


The Bane and the Blaze

by anarchine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexual Character, F/F, Fantasy, Female Protagonist, Gen, Lesbian Character, Violence, Worldbuilding, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchine/pseuds/anarchine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Names

Someone wanders through a small bookshop, all high shelves, ladders, and of course books. She has sickly gray skin, a mess of short black hair, a pair of black horns, and is dressed in a simple shirt and trousers. A meow distracts her from her browsing, it’s that cat again. Why does it keep following her around? The cat is climbing on one of the shelves, and knocks over one of the books high up. It falls to the ground in front of the girl, and the title reads “The nature of Identity and its Spirits, the small gods around and within us.”

A voice calls a name, and the girl who wants a different one turns quickly and picks up the book. The owner of the store, a kind old man named Rain, arrives to see what the commotion is about. As he sees the girl he says “Come now, what was that noise all about. You’re the only one here, so what happened?”

“It was the cat sir,” replied the girl. “It knocked a book off the shelf is all.” Her voice is filled with tension. She can’t afford to get kicked out of the store, not if she is going to learn magic. She has nowhere else to go, and there’s not a single person who can or will help.

“Well boy, what did your cat help you find?” He smiles, wanting to calm the girl. She goes through enough already, he doesn’t need to add to her burdens.

“Uhm, I think it’s a book about Spirits? It looks old. How much does it cost?”

“That one? I can’t say for sure off the top of my head but i’d guess somewhere around 10 glass divines.”

“Oh…” The girl’s face drops, disappointment written plain on her features. Rain looks thoughtful for a moment before a wry smile spreads across his face.

“How about this, if you can’t afford it, you can read it here. Just a few stone each day you come in to read alright?”

“Two stone?” The girl asks with hope in her voice.

“Three and no less boy.” Rain replies, smiling at the excitement he sees in her eyes.

Four hours later, while the girl still reads the Spirit book, the cat begins howling. It nibbles at her feet and then runs off to the storefront window, drawing her eyes to the group of three boys approaching the only sanctuary she has left outside of home. Fear fills her and she quickly hisses at Rain, getting his attention. “Can you take the book back? I have to go  _ now!” _

“Of course, why do you-? Oh.” He follows her gaze to the teenagers outside. “I’ll take care of the book, you stay safe-” He uses the name once more, and then turns to greet his new visitors.

“Where’s the little demon, shopkeep?” The first of them asks. He has dark brown hair and tanned skin, and his name is Barien. He helps his father lift bags of grain at the market.

“There are no demons here, go home boy.”

“That’s not true! Kapi said she saw the little creature come in here a few hours ago, and he hasn’t left!” The second to speak is thinner, his blonde hair and soft hands make him popular with romantic partners. His name is Seram, and his mother is a scribe.

“Kapi must have missed him then, besides he is not a demon.”

“What is he then?” Barien replied, “some other sort of monster? People aren’t supposed to have horns you know!” His tone is mocking, and he clearly thinks he is very clever.

“He is no more a demon than you are your grandfather. Do not blame a child for the accident of his birth.” Rain replies, his voice barely hiding his disdain.

_ “THERE!” _ the last boy shouts, pointing outside at the running girl. His name is Gerra, and he likes to impress the other boys with his money, being a noble’s son gives him some advantages. His fair skin and dark hair are expertly matched with fine silk and linen. The boys leave the shop running, chasing down the girl simply for the pleasure of seeing her fear.

Two months pass. Two months of studying and beatings for the girl. Two more months of hearing a name that isn't hers, two more months of being called what she is not, be it demon or boy. But after those two months she is finally ready. She has read, and practiced, and experimented, and she finally thinks she can do it. She can feel better soon. The chapter that caught her interest more than anything dealt with a technique called Introspection. It described communication with the Spirit of yourself, of your own identity. It is a very risky endeavour, the Spirit is somehow both you and not. Convincing it to change you, to change itself, could end in disaster if the change is not well thought through, or if the arguments you use are bad, or if you simply convince your Spirit of something else than what you intended, you could end up changed in ways you never would have wanted. But she knew the case she would make, and she was certain it was not only relatively safe, but relatively simple as well. She tells her mother to not be alarmed when she comes back from her room, and begins the ritual. 

First, the offering. She puts down something she wants on the floor, and draws a chalk circle around it. A gift from her mother, back when she was little. A toy soldier, bought with the little money they had, kept and cherished for years, full of memories. It was important to her, so it would also be important to her Spirit. She promises it to her own little god, and asks to speak and be spoken to.

Suddenly, Light. No not light, a white space. She sits in front of a reflection, an image of herself, as she sees herself, and as she is seen. The true representation of her being. A torn figure, red with wounds. It looks like it should be in unbearable pain, but it sits there calm and collected, mirroring her position.

“I need to change.” She says, her voice only cracking slightly. Nervousness and puberty both undermining her attempt at command.

“Why? I have endured so far.”

“Because this is not what I was meant to be. My own body makes me feel sick, the changes it’s currently going through makes it worse. I cannot speak without feeling like it is another’s voice. If this is my body, why do I feel like it doesn't belong to me?”

“A fair point, but how well do I know myself? Look at me, I do not look like I am in my right mind.”

“I know well why I hurt. Not only am I punished for who I was born as by others, my own existence hurts me. I cannot change how others act, but through this I can at least change myself.”

“If I know myself that well, tell me my name.”

The girl’s face drops. She grits her teeth and bitterly says a name.

“That is not my name,” the Spirit replies, “I have chosen it already. If I know myself well enough to know I need to change, then I must also be aware enough to know my name.”

The girl looks back up, tears welling up in her eyes. She says her name.

“Aurora.”

The Spirit almost seems to smile, and then it transforms. It becomes a reflection of Aurora's body, and it begins to change. Her black hair grows long, the colours of night bleeding into it, and she can faintly see stars twinkling in it, as if she is looking up at the moonlit sky. Her skin becomes more vibrant, and takes a shade of blue. Her eyes change dramatically, sclera turning black, pupils white, and the irises filling with starlight. And at last the shape of her changes. She finally feels like who she is, she finally feels at home.


	2. Kindling Ignites

Embla wakes up in her favorite alley corner. She brushes her tightly curled, long black hair out of her brown eyes, resting it behind her horns. At least they had some use, even if the ruddy brown things did scrape ceilings sometimes. She stretches, and sees that some snow has blown in, the white in stark contrast with her dark amber skin. It’s the middle of winter, cold and dark. Embla yawns, and rises. She wears thin, sparse rags, but the cold doesn’t bother her. She is always warm, there’s a fire inside her. The rest of the children and teenagers sharing her corner for her heat instinctively huddle together as she leaves them, a few waking from the sudden chill. She walks away, eating at some of the morsels they paid for the privilege of sleeping in her space, and goes to beg or steal, she’s not sure which yet.

A few hours of begging go by. The pay is sparse. Even with her most pathetic look, feigned shiver and everything, people were exceptionally greedy today. Her day is not improved when she sees Len approaching. The boy has been trying to push her away from her best begging spots, even claiming the alley where she slept for a while, and she is not looking forward to dealing with him.

“Y- you’re in my spot embla,” he opens, pale from the cold. His brown skin is almost ashen, and he shivers uncontrollably.

“It’s not your spot, I was here first! And besides you’re gonna freeze to death if you stay here. Go find somewhere warm before you die out here, I’ll give you a free night in my place if you do.”

“No! Th- this is my s-spot, leave or I’ll find s-someone to m-m-make you!”

At this, Embla loses her temper. “Leave! You won’t find anyone anyway, and you can forget that free night! You can’t make me do  _ anything!” _

Len shuffles away, and he doesn’t come back to chase her away. That was good, despite her projected confidence, she was scared of him. He was older and stronger than she was, and if he wasn’t a walking icicle she would have no choice but to scurry off. 

A few months later, well into the spring, Embla ran through the streets with a middle aged fruit seller following her every step. It was very unreasonable, Embla thought, to chase someone three blocks for a few apples. And maybe the damage to the stall, and the runaway horse, or the face she made in the old wife’s direction. Soon she would be safe though. Ferra had promised this would work, and had prepared for it. She ran into a dead end street, and the woman chasing yelled in triumph, “Got you you little shit!”

“Not quite,” a different voice said. Ferra always had this confidence in her voice, her sun-bleached hair chopped short with a jagged knife, which now occupied her scarred right hand. “Good job outrunning the guard, this never would have worked if you weren’t so determined to take food from starving hands.” She smiles. It’s a mean, cruel smile.

“I’m not the one stealing from honest folk am i,” the merchant women replies. “She’s got nowhere to run, im taking my things back, and then the little monster is having a nice long chat with the head of the guard.”

“I don’t think you're in a position to bargain,” Ferra says, a few more old teenagers slipping into the alley, wielding makeshift weapons of their own. “I think the only position you’re in, is the one where you give us everything valuable you might have on you.”

The older woman hesitates, clearly uncertain about how to deal with this situation. Then she grabs Embla. “Let me leave right now or I swear I'll strangle your little friend!”

“Go ahead,” Ferra replies, “she’s no friend of mine.”

“I’ll do it, I swear I’ll do it!” the woman shrieks, growing desperate, and ignoring Embla’s thrashing.

“No!” Embla yells, and does the only thing she can think of. She leans forwards, then throws her head back, burying one of her horns into the woman’s side. The merchant screams, immediately dropping her hostage, and Ferra’s gang dashes forwards, killing her.

Embla can’t forget about her face. Not the woman she helped kill, she was turned away when they all jumped on her. Ferra’s face kept haunting her. Smug, surprised, and slightly impressed. She got her cut from the job, even a little bonus from the mastermind behind it. Ferra winked at her when she handed it over, saying she might have a future after all. She was terrifying. And so, so attractive. Embla couldn’t help but feel conflicted as she lay in her little corner, failing to get some sleep. She was so scared of Ferra, but the girl was so strong, so confident. Yet she felt sick thinking of her, thinking of what she ended up doing because of her plan. She tossed and turned for hours before she came for her. Ferra suddenly stood over her in the darkness, extending a hand.

“Come on, get up. There’s something I need to show you.”

“What is it?” Embla asked, taking her hand and pulling herself up. She hadn’t been able to sleep anyway, and now there was no way she was going to manage it.

“Can’t a girl have her secrets,” she says, a wry smile on her face. She starts pulling Embla along, not letting go of her hand. She seems eager. Feelings bubbling in her chest, Embla can’t help but follow, dumbfounded.

They walk through the streets for about 15 minutes before Ferra stops, facing Embla. “Cover your eyes will you? Not much of a surprise if you see it coming.”

“Alright…” Embla whispers, covering her eyes with her free hand. Excitement builds as she feels Ferra leaning in closer, her breath on her lips. She kisses her deeply, and Embla’s heart has just enough time to skip a beat, before she feels someone grab one of her horns and yank her head backwards. She opens her eyes in panic, but reacts too slowly to stop Ferra from moving to her side, restraining her. Embla curses and struggles, but the only thing she gets is Ferra’s voice in her ear.

“Nothing personal, job’s a job. If it makes you feel better the kiss was  _ all _ my idea. Thought it could be a nice bonus.”

“Get  _ off!” _ Embla thrashes, but gets nowhere. She looks around, trying to see anything that could give her an advantage. Ferra was only restraining her, so there had to be someone else nearby to finish whatever the job was. Then she saw him, Len, rushing around the corner. He sees Embla held firmly, and smiles before walking calmly up to her.

“I told you I’d get someone,” Len says, trying and failing to look imposing.

“Fuck you!” Embla spits back, “You're pathetic, you know that? Why do you want me gone so bad, do I make you jealous or something? Just fuck off and leave-”

She does not manage to finish her sentence before Len plants a fist in her gut. She groans and grabs his shirt with her free hand to keep from falling over, gasping for air. Len says something else but she doesn’t hear it, not over her own beating heart, not over her own rage. She can feel herself burning up inside, her anger welling up, adrenaline masking the pain. She takes a second punch to the gut, and she feels herself burning. She always keeps warm, people say there’s a fire in her. If he hurt her, he would  _ burn. _ Suddenly she feels something new, a heat in her hand, and light in front of her. Len screams and falls backwards, his shirt ablaze from where Embla held it. He tears off the fabric, and runs blindly into the night. Ferra’s jaw drops, a gasp escaping. She lets go of Embla and takes a few steps backwards. Without the support of the bigger girl, Embla falls over almost immediately, still reeling from the beating. She looks up at Ferra, eyes full of anger, and Ferra looks uncertain, before turning and running away. Embla crawls into the nearest suitable place and throws up, before resting for the night. Len never bothers her again. She doesn’t really think about what she managed to do.


	3. Trial

Two Gods sit in their throne room. One is reading from a book, trying to find a reason to avoid the next trial. His umber skin is bathed in silver light, though no source is visible, and his eyes are a fearsome white. His bald head is adorned with a plain circlet, made entirely of blue crystal. The other looks over at him, and asks, “So what’s the next one, another petition?”

“No Roenon, someone called for our judgement. Accused murderer of two, a nobleman and the son of a merchant or some such.”

“And will this one be interesting? It would be a nice change of pace.”

“She claims the trial was unfair, and apparently performed without her presence. If it’s true I’m afraid she may not be wasting our time, though I might be wrong.”

“Oh please, Verat. when was the last time you were wrong?” His golden hair framing his pale face, Roenon was the image of grace, his golden crown adorned with spires and gemstones. Verat hands the book to a servant, and motions for the trial to begin.

Aurora is pushed forwards, almost falling. She walks to the center of the room, attempting to hold herself with pride, but the pain quickly makes it impossible, and she leans heavily on the cane they were gracious enough to lend her. She looks up at her gods, and can’t stop the shiver that runs up her spine. She has never been this afraid before. Someone suddenly speaks. “Aurora Kairaan, you face King Roenon, Avatar of Magic and Desert Winds, and King Verat, Avatar of Knowledge and the Rising Tide. You are accused of the murder of Gerra Stonevine, and Barien, the son of Donn. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, I was-”

“You will not speak except to answer questions, am I understood?”

Aurora grits her teeth and looks down. The trial hadn’t even started, and already she had made a mistake. “Yes, I understand.”

“Excellent. The evidence against you is the testimony of one Seram, son of Aish. There are also many who witnessed you stumbling away from the scene. Do you deny this evidence?”

“No. Based on the information given, I do not.” It was a risk, but she didn’t think she had any safe options.

The man steps back and bows toward his gods, indicating that his part of the trial is complete. Roenon nods to him, and speaks. “While a part of this trial, you will only speak the truth. You will not attempt to disguise the truth, and you will speak the entire truth.”

Aurora gasps and stumbles as the divine command hits her. The power of it giving her no option but to obey. She feels her composure crumbling as she runs out of options.

“Now,” Roenon continues, “I would like to hear your account of these events. You claim innocence, yet do not deny any of the damning evidence against you. On what grounds do you make your case?”

“Your holiness, I was walking home after a session of studying. Barien, Seram, and Gerra cut off my route and forced me into an alleyway. I assumed they were going to beat me, as they have done for years, but that day Barien pulled a knife, and stabbed me.” She instinctively grabs at her wound at the side of her stomach, the pain still haunting her. “I defended myself, and two of them ended up dead, while the last fled.”

“You speak truly, I know this.” Roenon replies, “But I find it hard to believe that you could overpower three men. How did you do it?”

Aurora feels like she’s going to die from the stress alone. She already presented her case, and they knew it was true. Why did they have to drag it out? “Magic, my king. It is what I was studying before attempting to go home.”

Verat now leans forward, studying her closely, and asks, “What magic did you use? I am also curious if you have manifested sorcery.”

Her eyes dart around the room. A few spectators line the edges, watching her with curiosity and disgust. She needs to keep her head cool, so that when an opportunity presents itself, she can recognize it. “I am not so blessed as that, your holiness. And the spell I used was a stable lightning bolt. No rebound, and no recoil.”

The kings fall silent, watching and considering for a moment, before Roenon smiles and loudly declares, “We find Aurora Kairaan innocent of all crimes. She has spoken the truth before her gods, and the truth is that she is a victim, not a murderer.”

She closes her eyes, managing to calm herself enough to enjoy her relief.

Verat continues, “In addition, due to her demonstrated competence with the arcane, she is granted a place at the First University, here in our great city.”

Her relief vanishes in a heartbeat, and a deep dread settles over her. “WAIT!” she yells, as she is ushered out of the throne room. The kings look surprised, but Roenon motions for the attendants to let her speak. “Please! You can’t send me to the university!” Her voice is full of panic and desperation.

Verat considers this for a moment, then simply asks, “Why?”

Aurora stops, dead silent. She can’t speak from her shock, and simply stares, mouth hanging open.

With an impatient look, Verat says, “I asked you a simple question, girl. Why is this so difficult to answer?”

Not quite having collected herself, Aurora speaks before she has time to consider her words. “I’m sorry, I just could not believe that the Avatar of Knowledge could be so ignorant.”

A deafening silence fills the room, and Aurora can almost taste the tension in the room. She quickly looks down, quietly cursing herself for losing her composure. She had insulted a god to his face! That’s not something you walk away from. She slowly realizes that she will not live through this, and a primal fear fills her, when Roenon breaks the silence with a bark of laughter. Aurora almost jumps to the ceiling.

“I like this one,” he says, “she speaks from the heart!”

She is frozen. It takes a moment for her to realize what’s happening.

Verat finally says, “I will forgive the insult if you enlighten me, miss Kairaan. Why are you so desperate to avoid the university?”

In disbelief, Aurora answers, “I… as you can plainly see I have demon blood in my veins. It’s well known to people like me that if I were to succeed on my entrance exams, my fellow students would toss me off the top of a tower within a week. It’s why I chose to study on my own in the first place.”

“Very well,” Verat says, “You are free to return to your home, though I urge you to consider it. I am interested to see your progress, and the university would let me keep an eye on you.” He begins to wave for the attendants to lead her away.

Aurora suddenly sees an opportunity. Not the one she had been watching for, but maybe one she had been seeking for years. “If I may,” she quickly says, probably speaking out of turn, “There is a solution that would give us both what we want.” A curious glint in Roenon’s eyes urges her to continue. “You wish to watch me as I progress, to see what becomes of me. I wish to master magic, and while I have learned much, there are limits to what’s available in a dusty bookshop. Take me in. Give me access to your libraries. Teach me, even. If you give me the opportunity, I promise I will not disappoint you.”

The kings seem to consider this for a moment, before Roenon grins. “You make an excellent point. Aurora Kairaan, I hereby take you in as my apprentice and assistant. You will have the knowledge you seek, though you will pay for it with hard work. We expect great things from you.”

It worked. How in the homeland of the gods did that work? She hadn’t expected things to go her way, not really. She is dumbstruck with the reality that she might get what she wants, maybe even relatively safely.

Verat then speaks, “Now come here, child. It will not do for Roenon’s new assistant to be so gravely wounded.”

Aurora wakes up in a luxurious bed. The healing she received from her new masters knocked her out completely, and even now she felt exhausted. Next to the bed is an end table, with a note and a bell placed on top of it. After reading the note, she does as it instructed, and rings the bell. A few moments later, a servant girl enters the chamber. Seeing Aurora awake, she tells her to sit tight, and runs off to fetch someone. After a few minutes of waiting, a stern looking woman enters the room, with two servants in tow. She has graying dark brown hair, and wrinkles are starting to show on her well kept, fair skin.

“Now girl,” she says, “my name is Yann, and I’m the one tasked with making you presentable here in the palace. You may already be pretty, but with some work, I think we could make you truly beautiful.”

Aurora is silent for a moment, but finally speaks, “I… this is all taking a moment to sink in, I apologise. I’m not used to… _this.”_

“Well girl, it’s what you asked for. Now let’s get you out of those dirty rags and get you in a bath. Someone will come take your measurements while you dry off. Until your new clothes are finished, you will unfortunately have to wear what we have available, though I doubt we have anything that would fit you well, tall as you are.”

Aurora smiles. “I think it will do fine, for now,” she says. She can not afford to lose this.


	4. A Productive Member of Society

Embla spent the next two years surviving, as always. During this time, more and more things would catch fire when she was around, but she eventually managed to find some control over her new powers. When she did, survival suddenly became easier. Few people dared to try pushing her around anymore, and those who did quickly learned their lesson. Some of them started calling her Arenei, which in some language or other translates to hearthfire, as she still helped many keep warm during the winter. The nickname quickly caught on, and few were left who bothered to remember her actual name. In the end, she embraced it. She almost never saw Ferra in those two years, which made for a big surprise the cold spring day when Embla was sought out.

“Hey there Embla,” Ferra’s voice called from around a corner. “Or is it Arenei now? You’ve made a bit of a name for yourself, same as me.”  
“Ferra,” Embla replied, walking up to the corner, but not around it. Never knew if it could be an ambush. “Here to lure me into another alley? Because if you’re after more of what you got last time, I know a more private place for it. Would work well for both the things you did, though I would prefer if we kept it to the first one. And either name works.”  
Ferra chuckles in response. “Embla is then. Maybe we could have a little fun, but I’m actually here to offer you a job. Might be long term, if you do it well.”  
“And what kind of job would that be? If it’s killing more shopkeepers you can forget it. I prefer to avoid that kind of attention these days, I couldn't go back to the market for months after that.”  
“No, this is safer. And it should involve less death if the people aren’t stupid. I’ve been working for a guy with resources, he’s got a whole network set up. He’s looking for more enforcers, and I’m the one in charge of hiring this time. You’ll be working in a team directly under me, and you’ll mostly be putting people who refuse to pay their debts back in their place. Sometimes something big comes up, but that hasn’t happened in a long time.”  
Embla thinks for a moment. “Alright, what’s the pay like. And anything I should know about this person? Don’t wanna end up collapsed in another alley, this time with a knife in my gut. I like to avoid making stupid mistakes.”  
“The pay’s good, five half-glass a week, and you get a place to lay your head down too, he takes good care of us. And as long as you don’t start digging where you shouldn’t, and don’t ask stupid questions, you should be fine.”  
“Alright this sounds good, where do I sign up?”  
“Well that’s the thing, Embla. The boss doesn’t hire just anyone. You have to pass a little test first. Just to see if you’re the right girl for the job.”  
“So what am I doing? It better not be roughing someone up. I have a hard time doing that without leaving some pretty nasty scars.”  
“Nothing quite like that. The tailor on Galley street, in Oldtown, is late on his payments. You need to walk in, and give him an… incentive to pay up. Try not to break anything unless you have to though, we don’t want to make it harder for him to earn what he owes.”  
“Alright, I can do that. I have one condition for taking this job though, don’t send me to someone who can’t afford to pay. I’m sick of watching people die in the streets during winter.”  
Ferra finally turns the corner, and smiles, holding out a hand. “I can work with that. Assuming you don’t fuck this up, welcome aboard, Embla.” She shakes it.

A few minutes later, a bell rings, announcing a new guest at Cett’s Stitches. A voice rings through the hallway, “I will be with you in a moment!”  
Embla looks around the shop, marvelling at the rich fabrics and expertly sewn outfits. Her own rags hang loosely, and she can clearly feel she doesn’t belong. As promised, a shorter man soon enters the showroom. He is in his mid-30s, and his face looks like it was stepped on by some big animal. He sees Embla, and his expression quickly sours. “Oh by the gods, get out. Stop wasting my time.”  
“That’s not very polite you know, I’m here just to speak with you. Honestly you should thank me for coming in.”  
“If you haven’t left in 30 seconds, I’m calling the guard to make you leave.”  
“Oh but how will we be able to talk about your debts in just 30 seconds?” Embla asks with a sly smile, and the man’s face goes red with anger.  
“Thief! Scoundrel! I never wanted this, I owe him nothing!” His voice is trembling.  
“I recognize you, you know.” Embla replies. Calm, but venom is starting to seep into her voice. “You used to kick me when I begged at the Third Fountain Square.” The man draws a breath to continue, but suddenly falls silent when Embla raises a hand in front of her face, and it ignites in a blaze. “I’ve been told that it’s preferable if I avoid breaking anything, but if you’re dead set on being difficult, I will gladly burn this place, and everything in it, to the ground.” Her gaze falls back on Cett, and he flinches under the weight of it. “Are you going to do me a favour, and be difficult for me? I would love to give you a little taste of suffering. It’s frankly what you deserve, kicking starving children.”  
He swallows, and while the tremor in his voice remains, it is clearly caused by an entirely different emotion. “NO! Please,” he begins, “I never meant for this, I just wanted you to stop bothering us productive members of society! I never meant to take the loan, and I never meant for this. Please, have mercy!”  
Savouring the moment, Embla waits a few seconds before responding, “Well, mister ‘productive member of society,’ I have a job now, and it just so happens to be putting little men like you back in their place. Now are you going to pay up?”  
Cett looks down, defeated. “Yes.”  
“Excellent,” she replies, “I’ll help myself to this while I leave.” Embla grabs a silk robe hanging on display. Sunlight yellow, with borders of warm red, and a wide sash of the same red to be tied above the hips. The short sleeves would make wielding fire easier without setting the garment on fire, and even if she did make a mistake, she could easily throw it off. Cett looks like he is about to protest, but the words catch in his throat, and all he manages is a pathetic whine. The bell rings, heralding her exit from the shop.

On the opposite side of the street, Ferra leans against a wall. When Embla exits, she hops to her feet, and approaches. “So, how’d it go?”  
“Oh he was loud, but he got the message pretty clearly I’d say. He should pay up soon.”  
“Good job, you’re in. Also, what’s with the silk?”  
“Thought it could be a nice bonus,” Embla says with a grin, “now how would you like to take some alone time before I put it on? I would hate to waste the opportunity.”  
“Now we can’t waste anything, can we,” Ferra says, then grabs Embla around the waist and pulls her close, “After all, people like us need to take every chance to get what we want.”  
They disappear into a secluded alley, and stay there for a long, long time.


	5. Faith, Truth, and Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be trying to write longer chapters going forward, with more than a couple of small scenes for each. This will slow down my update pace, but I think it will make the story better overall.

Aurora rushes through the palace. She barely had the time to learn the layout, and she definitely did not know which room in the western wing was Roenon’s study, but she had been told to go there, and had no plans to disobey. She would not be a disappointment for her first lesson. Finally she finds a room with two guards at the door. Their gleaming breastplates and shining spears intimidate her for a few seconds, but after taking a moment to catch her breath, she asks, “Excuse me, is this Roenon’s study? I was told I was expected.”

One of the guards nods, a man with dark brown skin, and a subtle smile. She thanks him, and is about to enter the room when the other guard grabs her arm. This one is a shorter freckled woman with tanned white skin, and Aurora can see a few locks of red, curly hair peeking out under her helmet. She hisses into Aurora’s ear, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I don’t appreciate it when opportunists waste his time. Step out of line  _ once, _ and I'll make you regret ever coming here.”

Aurora barely keeps from wincing, and her heart drops when she realizes this is something she will never escape. Someone will always try to make her life hell. Doing her best to seem commanding, says, “As noble as your intentions are, I need you to let go of me. You’re going to leave a bruise, and I will not keep quiet about how I received it. Besides, we wouldn't want to keep the master waiting.” She can feel herself breaking out into a cold sweat. If she managed to establish herself as powerful, maybe she would be left alone.

The woman lets out a wordless noise, but lets go of her. The other guard throws Aurora a sympathetic look, then opens the door for her. She manages to keep her trembling in check, hopefully hiding it well enough for them not to notice.

The room is a tall chamber, with shelves lining the walls all the way up to the ceiling. A table and chair seems to have been hastily positioned in front of an ornate desk in the center, and at that desk sits Roenon. He motions for Aurora to have a seat in the chair, and she quickly obeys.

“You’re late, miss Kairaan. What am I to think, considering your earlier enthusiastic promise?” he says with a grin.

She hides her anger well. He could have her killed on a whim, and he decides to joke about her precarious situation? “I’m afraid I could not find the room, my king. The palace is large, and Yann did not give me the clearest of instructions before sending me running. I sincerely apologize for my lateness.”

“Oh don’t worry, I just like to tease. And no more of that ‘my king’ nonsense. You’re one of us now, and humility doesn’t suit you. Call me Roenon.”

She didn’t at all feel like one of them, but there was no point in saying that. If anything it could damage her position. “As you wish. So, what will you teach me for my first lesson?” Aurora asks, her hunger for knowledge overpowering her frustration and fear.

“Today, I will be gauging your current capabilities. To begin with, what can you tell me about the nature of magic?”

“Well,” Aurora begins, trying her best to put her knowledge into words, “Magic is the art of creating a truth that you want. Using the spell I used in the alley as an example, that truth was that lightning would shoot out of my hand. Those lucky enough to be born with sorcery, or to manifest it later in life, can simply create that truth with sheer force of will, while the rest of us must use already existing truths to create one that will serve our needs. Using the same spell as an example, the truths I used were: Lightning appears from clouds. Clouds are air and water. My body is in large part water, and air is constantly flowing through it. Lightning will mostly travel from cloud to cloud. Lightning will take the shortest path. And at last, I am in control of my body. With these truths I equated myself and the others to clouds, and said lightning would shoot between us. I also ensured my own safety by including my own control in it. It exhausted me, which is a process I don’t entirely understand, but I assume it has something to do with straining myself when pushing those truths together.”

Roenon nods appreciatively, and says “You have a good foundation, though you are missing a few key things. Magic is one of the fundamental forces of existence. The world itself is nothing but the idea that things can exist, with the power to be true. That power to be true is what we call magic, as you said, but you’re missing the fact that to make a spell work, you only need to create a truth that is more potent than the truth of the world. We are all blessed with some magic, at the depth of our being. Without it we couldn’t exist. But since you have not developed sorcery, this means you do not have a truth strong enough to defy the world. Instead, you take the truth of the world itself, and twist it. You use the world's truth against itself! The first to think of it was a genius, in my opinion. As for why it tires you, you still use your own truth when you use magic, there is no way around it. The truth you yourself impose is simply that all the truths you’ve collected are in fact connected, that they are the same truth. You strain against something so much more powerful than you, but you do it while using that power yourself.”

Aurora nods and thinks, realising that this was exactly what she had been looking for. She takes some notes, and ideas start to form in her head, as they often do when she studies these things. When Roenon is done, she looks up at him and says, “You’re not at all what I expected Roenon.” hoping that if she can be charming, he will be reluctant to get rid of her.

“Oh? And what did you expect?”

Having observed him until now, she makes the gamble that this was what he would want to hear, and says, “Well for one I expected someone who is both a god and a king to be less, well… less like people.”

“Less like people, eh? I understand where you’re coming from, but remember that I was like you once, just a person. My mind didn’t change much with my ascension, I have simply learned to inspire faith.”

“I will say Roenon, right now you're not really inspiring much faith in me. Not as a god at least, though maybe as a mage. And a teacher.” He said himself that he likes to tease. Hopefully he would appreciate her doing it in return.

Roenon smiles warmly at this, and Aurora is relieved that she was right about him. “I don’t need your undying faith in my divinity, miss Kairaan. I simply need you to listen to your lessons and do the tasks I give you. Speaking of faith, have you considered that power in terms of magic?”

“I have not,” Aurora replies, impressed with how fast he turned the conversation back to the lesson. “I thought I had to use truth, not belief.”

“But there is truth in faith. If you consider the existence of sorcerers, who can impose their truth all on their own, imagine what a thousand people all believing the same thing could do. It is obviously less focused, and more temperamental, but you  _ can _ draw on a truth, as long as enough people are convinced of it. Many holy mages in this land have enough faith by themselves to draw my power to them. They believe that I will act on their behalf, and as long as I myself don’t oppose it, they’re right. In fact, it gives me the opportunity to use my power far beyond my usual range. Someone could pray for my help two countries away, and I would be able to answer.”

“And that’s beyond what you’re usually capable of?” That was useful. If she had to run, it might be possible to go beyond his reach.

“Yes. I may be a god, but my powers do have limits.”

“You’ve given me a lot to consider, Roenon. I am far less knowledgeable than I believed.”

“You’re far more capable than I expected, miss Kairaan. Now, you will, during the next hour, produce a spell with a metaphor used as a component. And you will, before tomorrow, write at least two pages on the benefits and detriments of using belief as a component for spells. You have access to my library, but I believe your greatest asset for these tasks will be your own keen mind.”

The next lesson goes much like the first. Obvious suspicion from the redheaded guard, though she doesn’t do anything as severe as grab her again, a short lecture on the use and nature of magic, and an assignment. The days go by like this for a few weeks, with exceptions made for days where the gods take petitions. Soon, Aurora gets a sense for the daily rhythm in the palace, giving her more time to roam, as she knows when she will be expected. She gets a better idea of the layout of the massive building, and finds that of all places within, she likes the gardens the most. They’re calming, and since they’re best enjoyed in silence, she feels less lonely when she spends her time there. It is here that Verat finds her, reading a book on the history of the gods.

“Aurora, I’ve been looking for you. You seem to be settling in well.” Verat says, keeping an informal tone.

“Thank you, Verat. Yann has made sure I look and act the part as well as can be expected. You know, considering I grew up in what I am certain is the smallest apartment in the city.” She hopes she has a good idea of what he will respond well to, jokes and teasing seem to remind him of Roenon, which as far as she can tell is a good thing.

Verat chuckles, and says, “Well you’ve adjusted marvelously. In fact, I think it is time we begin talking about your duties. You’ve done spectacularly as Roenon’s apprentice, and I think it’s time you begin acting as his assistant.”

“Of course,” replies Aurora, glad she managed to read him right. “I am honestly surprised it took so long for this to come up. What will my duties be?”

“We hoped you could take his place as judge for some of the petitions. It’s not exactly exciting work, but it would give him some more time to pursue his own projects. It would also give you more insight into the way we run things here, which will help, as when we think you are ready you will speak on our behalf in foreign lands.”

“You’re planning on making me an ambassador then? I was expecting to end up doing clerical work, taking notes on research and legal proceedings or some such.” That she would represent Roenon surprised her, she did not expect to be given that amount of trust and responsibility. It was uncomfortable, she had no option of turning it down.

“That will not be necessary. We already have a full staff for that kind of work, and you were chosen to be a personal assistant to a god and a king. And you will not exactly be an ambassador, you will act more in the short term. Be a voice of reason in difficult negotiations, attend a party now and then. The biggest part of that job will honestly be travel. Though this is assuming we find you suitable for that kind of work. This is why we want you in the throne room. First to observe, then to judge. It will be a test of sorts.”

“Very well, when is the next day of petitions?”

“In two days. Get up early, and be there an hour before noon. There are some preparations you will need to be part of. And Aurora? If you want to study our history, I’d rather recommend The Chosen’s Story, written by Karin Saith. It’s a lot more detailed.”

Aurora arrives exactly when she was instructed, wearing one of her new tailored outfits. This one is a sleek sleeveless dress in silver fabric, hanging loosely from her shoulders and trailing along the floor behind her. She nods to the redhead with a smug smile, hoping to throw her off before she can do anything to her, and approaches the two gods. They are standing with the man who had spoken at the start of her own trial, who she had learned was their announcer, named Paresh. She had thought he had fair skin, but now that she sees him up close, it’s clear that he’s a lighter brown skinned man, he is simply very pale. He almost looks like a corpse as he stands there, in the presence of two men who radiate vitality. She lowers her gaze and silently joins them, showing deference to the senior servant. He responds with a respectful nod, and then speaks to his gods.

“So, now that your assistant has joined us, shall we begin?” Paresh asks.

“An excellent idea,” Roenon replies, “Aurora, before proceedings begin, we will link our minds, allowing us to speak freely among ourselves without sharing our thoughts with our audience. This is quite advanced magic, and I expect you to pay attention.”

Aurora nods, despite her discomfort with the idea. She wanted at least her thoughts to be her own. When the other three join hands in a circle, she follows suit and joins them. Roenon begins a whispered chant in the Divine language. Soon the whispers change into speech, and then into shouting. She doesn't know how long it takes, but when Roenon finally finishes, she immediately feels her mind pulled in three different directions all at once. She stumbles, and Roenon laughs at her discomfort. Soon, she acclimates, and can simply feel her connection with the others.

She doesn’t as much hear it, as she  _ feels _ a string of thoughts flow into her mind,  _ “I forgot how jarring that can be for someone who has never tried it.” _ She somehow knows immediately that it is Roenon.

_ “Please, Roenon,” _ Verat replies,  _ “Have a little tact. Now Aurora, usually we would speak openly until the petitioner arrives. But today we will keep it mostly within the privacy of the spell. I want you to get used to this, so you do not accidentally voice your thoughts aloud.” _

Aurora cautiously tests her connection to the others, and quickly finds that sending her own thoughts is surprisingly intuitive. This was a well constructed spell.  _ “Of course, as you say. So is this what you were doing during your moments of silence in my trial as well?” _

_ “All but one,”  _ Roenon replies,  _ “I’ll admit we were both stunned when you called Verat an idiot.” _

Aurora’s face begins to fill with a deeper blue with a hint of purple, as she blushes furiously.  _ “I did no such thing! I just expressed surprise at the hole in his knowledge.” _

_ “Now Aurora,” _ Verat sends her way,  _ “there is no point denying it. It was shocking, but it was also accurate. You were right to raise your concerns.” _

Wildly uncomfortable with the topic at hand, she quickly responds,  _ “You didn’t exactly leave me with much choice, Verat. Though I maintain I could probably have worded it far better.” _

The conversation continues for a while longer, until Paresh clears his throat, and says, “The petitions will begin in 5 minutes. I believe it is time to prepare.”

“And to our gilded cages we go,” Roenon says, approaching his throne. “Aurora, you will be standing at my right, and you will observe. We might ask you to weigh in on some of them, but for now I think it would be best if you watched and learned.”

A few petitions go by, and Aurora quickly understands how the gods handle the concerns raised by their citizens. Verat informs Roenon on the case, being the only one of the two who bothers to do research before they sit on their thrones. Roenon provides commentary, often irrelevant and in his mind amusing, though he also weighs in on what he feels is just. Paresh will occasionally remind them of things they missed or forgot, as his memory is excellent. She does however, have difficulty hiding her disapproval when she hears how often the gods spend their time trying to find ways to dismiss petitions outright, claiming it a waste of their time. There is almost more effort put into avoiding the work, than actually doing it, and when the work is to rule the lives of an entire kingdom, it makes her sick to see them do their best to neglect it. Maybe it’s for the best that she takes Roenon’s place as judge, she thinks. At least that way she could do his job for him. It’s a terrifying thought. Soon, however, the pattern changes.

_ “This is the one, Roenon,” _ Verat says, pointedly not looking at Aurora.

_ “What’s going on?” _ she asks in response, feeling cold,  _ “What’s the next petition?” _

_ “You’ll find out in a moment,” _ Roenon replies, and sighs.

She doesn’t have time to question it further, as Paresh almost immediately begins his announcement. “Sharas Stonevine, you face King Roenon, Avatar of Magic and Desert Winds, and King Verat, Avatar of Knowledge and the Rising Tide. You petition for the honor of your son, Gerra Stonevine, and for the condemnation of Aurora Kairaan, apprentice and assistant to King Roenon. Approach, and you may speak your case.”

Aurora feels her heart drop. Cold dread and hate fills her, and she has to stop herself from staring daggers at her master.  _ “You planned this didn’t you? This is why you wanted me to start doing this today!” _

Roenon’s silence speaks volumes, and as Sharas steps into the center of the room, she keeps her eyes on Aurora without pause. She shares the same raven black hair and fair skin as her son, and is dressed in a long black coat, with a white silk dress underneath. The coat buttons are intricate, and seem to be made of pure silver. As she speaks, a chill runs down Aurora's spine. There is a hiss to the voice which leaves the younger woman unnerved. “My dear kings. My family has long been your faithful servants, with our holdings near the Bonespines providing both grain and silver for the kingdom. When my son was so viciously killed, my whole family was devastated. We were certain justice would be done, so we waited for his killer to face execution for her crimes. And yet here she stands, rewarded, rather than punished. My son is branded a criminal, not receiving the honors one of his station is owed, and this woman stands beside the throne? I demand my son be given a proper ceremony for a noble of his rank, and I demand that Kairaan is punished as expected for a killer of nobility.”

Aurora places her hands behind her back, out of view for all who are not in the employ of the gods. She hides her anger and her fear as well as she can, her finely manicured nails nearly piercing the skin in her tightly clenched hands. She stands there, listening to the woman speak, and when Sharas is finished, Roenon says, “Aurora will speak in her own defense. This is between the two of you, and together you will reveal who is in the right.”

Desperately suppressing her emotions, Aurora takes a deep breath. Then with as calm a voice she can muster, asks, “Are you familiar with the events during my trial here?”

“Yes, you were declared innocent of all crimes, despite admitting to killing him.”

“Are you familiar with the statements I made in my defense?”

“Yes. Now will you share the point of this line of questioning? I tire of hearing you repeat yourself.”

Aurora has to stop and calm herself again, rage would only hurt her position. “Then you will know that my actions were in defense of myself, and your son was the aggressor in the event? I fail to see how you have any grounds to see me punished. Are you going to keep wasting the gods’ time, or will you make a real argument?”

“Listen here, the Stonevine family has a long and respected history. We have been key supporters of the kingdom for generations! This treatment of one of our own is completely unacceptable!”

Before she can continue, Aurora cuts her off, her restraint slipping, “So you believe laws don’t apply to you because your family is old? Because your family is powerful? This may come as a surprise to you, but the law does not allow you to buy the right to kill. Unlike a common guard, you cannot bribe the gods to look the other way!”

Sharas goes red in the face, and hisses in return, “You little devil! I don’t know how you convinced the gods of your innocence, but I am not easily fooled. Your trickery will not escape my notice, you will face justice!”

Aurora smiles, relieved at seeing the corner has Sharas talked herself into. “I convinced them by telling the truth. Or are you implying that I, at the time an amateur self-taught mage, somehow managed to resist a divine command to speak only truth, without them noticing? Are you really calling the gods incompetent, or are you satisfied with only calling them gullible?”

The older woman goes pale, realising what she said, and for a moment cannot speak through her stuttering. Eventually however, she finds her words again. She looks to the gods, and says, “I apologise, my kings. I spoke entirely out of turn, and I never meant to insult you. But the fact of the matter is that Aurora Kairaan is not innocent. I concede she may have acted within her rights as a citizen, but my son told me something a few years before he died. The one who now calls himself Aurora, was born a boy.”

Aurora’s moment of triumph quickly sours, and she is filled with a cold dread as Sharas calls her a name she would rather forget.

Sharas continues, “There is only one thing I know that is capable of changing someone that significantly, and that permanently. Besides your own intervention of course, and magic far beyond his capabilities. The only logical conclusion is that this demonspawn used Spirit mastery to change itself, a practice that has been illegal for centuries.”

A chill runs up Aurora’s spine as she feels the gaze of her gods wash over her. Verat’s thoughts ring through her mind,  _ “Is this true?” _

She releases a heavy sigh, holding back tears.  _ “Yes. It is. I didn’t know it was illegal, though I doubt that will matter to you.” _ She knew better than to lie to gods.

Roenon replies,  _ “It does, but I don’t think now is the time to deal with this. We will talk about it tomorrow, during the time allotted for your lesson.” _ He then speaks aloud, “Sharas Stonevine, your case has been heard, and we deem it worthy of further investigation. We will not deny you a ceremony for your son, but we will not fund one for someone who helped with an attempt at murder. You will be provided with rooms in the palace until this matter has been resolved, though both you and Aurora will be placed under guard, as we find the risk of retaliation significant, considering the gravity of the situation.”

Aurora finds herself tensing up. She couldn’t afford to show weakness anymore, not for a single moment.


	6. Reaching Limits

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Embla stands in her new little home, as provided by her new employer. It’s a small apartment, made up of a common room with a kitchen corner, a privy with a window facing the alleyway, and a nook with two bunks and a hammock. Sitting at the common room table, eating something from a bowl, is Len. When he hears Embla’s voice, he freezes, then turns.

“I have to work with this guy?” Embla continues, “You know what he did!”

Ferra sighs, and says, “I’d hoped you could be at least a little professional about this. He hasn’t bothered you in a couple of years now, and he’s good muscle. Besides, he’s been working with me for months now. Play nice, or you won’t get more work. If you don’t get more work, you don’t get paid. Can you do that for me?”

Embla glares at Len, then at Ferra, then after a moment, makes up her mind. “Fine. But I don’t want any shit from you,” she says, pointing at Len, “or I’ll set your sheets on fire while you sleep.”

Len raises his eyebrows. “Alright alright, whatever you say. Ferra, can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?”

Ferra rolls her eyes, and waves him over. “Have a look around, Embla. We have some food in the cabinets, but we only have four spoons so make sure you wash up if you eat anything.”

As Len and Ferra steps out into the alley, Embla quickly finds a place to eavesdrop. Climbing up on the seat of the privy, she hears Len’s voice through the window.

“You hired  _ her? _ She’s gonna set us all on fire within a week! She can’t keep her cool, she doesn’t know what subtlety even means _ , _ and she hates me!”

“And yet,” Ferra replied, “she cracked Cett within  _ minutes! _ The boss has been looking for more mages, and she fits the bill.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you could have picked? Literally anyone? I’m not gonna be able to do my job if I can’t sleep! And when someone who threatened to set me on  _ fire _ is within arms length, I’m not gonna be able to sleep, am I?”

“Alright. Maybe there's another mage or two in town who are in a position to be recruited. But finding them would take, what, a few weeks? I didn’t have that kind of time Len! She is available, she is competent, and she clearly knows how to keep her powers in line, or people wouldn’t flock to her, would they? I’ll talk to her. You’ll be fine, I promise!”

“And how the fuck do you know she’ll listen? She’s volatile I’m telling you!”

“Alright that's enough out of you Len. Have you ever met her without trying to threaten her?” Len begins to speak, but Ferra quickly cuts him off, “Of course you haven’t! You spent your childhood years doing your best to antagonize her, and you wonder why she might act a little hostile towards you? Besides, she wants the job, and she knows that unless she follows  _ my _ rules, she’s out. Now be a good little boy and do the same as I told her. Play. Nice. Are you getting what I’m saying here Len?”

When Len replies, he sounds like a beaten dog. “Yes, Ferra. I get it. I’m just worried is all.”

“Well, then let  _ me _ worry. It’s not your job.” Ferra says, and soon after Embla hears footsteps as they move back towards the door. She rushes back into the common room, and when they open the door, she sits there twirling a small flame around her finger.

The next few days go by without incident. Len takes over the Cett job, as Ferra fears the man might drop dead if he sees Embla again, and the two manage to mostly keep it civil. Though Embla finds that she enjoys watching Len squirm a bit after the way he treated her in her youth. One day however, she finds curiosity overpowering her resentment. She finds Len eating rice with some sort of spicy brown sauce she doesn't know what is, and sits opposite to him.

“Hey Len,” she opens, “why did you spend so much time trying to chase me away? I did nothing to you, but you spent a lot of effort doing your best to chase me out wherever I was.”

Len finishes his bite, and looks at her in disbelief. “You kidding? You really don't get it?”

“No,” says Embla, annoyance creeping into her voice, “I don’t. It’s not like you ever took the time to explain!”

Len sets aside the bowl, and sighs. “You ever wonder why you sucked at begging? There were loads of other kids who did better than you, even people like you, with the uh, horns and shit.”

“Not really, I just assumed they were better than I was.”

“It’s because wherever you went, a goddamn horde followed. During winter you were a glorified campfire, and the kids knew it. They didn’t wanna lose track of you because when winter came they didn’t wanna freeze. Anyone who begged even close to where you were set up got half their usual haul. I wanted to keep you as far away from my good spots as I could, but you didn't cooperate.”

“Well then you should have stolen more!” Embla retaliates, angry that Len so calmly explained why she was an awful presence, and angry that she never realised this herself. “If begging didn’t work, why didn’t you try other stuff instead?”

“You honestly think I didn’t try?” Len says, starting to lose his composure. Then he takes a deep breath and calms himself, clearly trying to make an effort to keep himself in line. “Stealing didn’t exactly get easier when you were around either you know. When there's 40 kids sneaking around the market, people are a lot more careful with their things than when there’s 10. The only thing that got easier when you were around was to stay warm at night, but it came at the cost of making  _ everything else _ significantly harder. I just wanted to fucking live, alright? That’s still all I wanna do.”

Embla thinks for a few moments. She’s not happy, but she doesn’t have anything else to say in her defense. Then she nods, and says, “Alright. I guess that’s fair enough. I’ll let you get back to your food.”

“What did you do to Cett, by the way?” Len shoots in before she can leave. “He went from the most frustrating asshole I’ve had to deal with, to someone who acts like a lost puppy whenever I come in.”

“Oh that?” Embla says with an evil little smile, “I gave him the impression that the only thing keeping me from burning down his shop was that the boss told me I shouldn’t break anything. If I could avoid it of course.”

“Wait that’s it? I’ve threatened him loads of times, and it barely ever worked!”

“Yeah, but I had a good angle. He used to kick me back at the fountain, and I pulled a big ‘please sir step out of line so I can  _ destroy you and get my vengeance’ _ routine. Guess he bought it. Though it was mostly true, so in the end it’s not like I needed to be a good liar.”

“Hmm… might also be he’s just scared of fires. Sounds like you're enjoying having some power over people now though.”

“Oh it’s great!” Embla’s face lights up with excitement. “Nobody can touch me anymore! It’s nice to be on this side of the scales for once.” She then gets a thoughtful expression, and after a moment, says, “Though I am wondering how good I actually am. Haven’t met anyone who looks at what I can do without either running away or staring in awe. Hard to know how good I am when I have nobody to compare with.”

“Oh, you wanna test yourself?” Len says, a smile creeping onto his face, “I know a place where you might get some practice.”

“Wait really?” Embla replies, no longer able to sit still. “You gotta show me! I’ll give you half this week’s pay if you do!”

“Alright, I’ll take you. But if Ferra asks, this was your idea.”

The evening on the next day, Len and Embla walk through the streets. As instructed, she put on something under her robe that she wasn’t worried about ruining. A simple white shirt and a pair of black leggings, bought with some of her recently earned money from someone who no longer needed them. Len is dressed in some of his nicer clothes, a red shirt with a nice black vest, and some brown pants. The vest even had buttons. Len leads them into a bar on a street corner, a good 20 minute walk away from their little hideout. The bar is large, but with very few people inside. Embla has to crouch a bit to avoid hitting her horns on the low rafters. The man behind the counter glances at Len, then studies Embla intently. He looks back at Len, and asks, “Who’s your new friend? I haven’t seen her before, and you don’t get to bring just anyone in there.”

“She’s Ferra’s newest hire. She’s actually here to sign up for a fight, believe it or not.”

“That scrawny thing?” the bartender replies, looking sceptical. “She’ll get knocked out within seconds. Go home girl.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Embla says with a grin, “if I get knocked down, who cares? I’ll look like an idiot, but that doesn’t seem like it bothers you much.” Small flames begin to lick up emblas fingers. “Besides, I think you might be underestimating me.”

“Should have opened with that,” the bartender mutters, then pulls out a book. He squints as he looks down the list, then taps it with the back of a pen he pulled out while Embla wasn’t paying attention. “There’s no more room in the duels, but the free for all looks like it’s still got a lot of room. There’s only one other mage entering there, the rest will be plain old fighters. You’re new, so I’ll give you the run-down. As a mage you don’t get to use armour or weapons, so keep your distance to the others, and try not to attract attention. They have a habit of swarming the mages as soon as the fight starts. If you come earlier next time I might be able to set you up with a duel, safer for everyone that way.”

“What about injuries, should I keep them light or am I free to let loose?”

“You do whatever you want. The people with any sense pay the healer’s fee, and the rest are stupid not to. It’s ten stone to enter, fifteen more for the healer. Don’t be stupid, we have enough hotheaded idiots through here.”

Embla pulls the coins from a pouch sewn into the inside of the robe, and puts a full 25 stone divines down on the counter. She grins, hardly able to stand still. She’s never seen another mage in action before.

“Name?”

At this, Embla suddenly stops. She then turns, and asks, “What do you think, Len? Embla or Arenei?”

“I don’t know, most of the fighters have a title or something. At least more than just one name.”

“Well I don’t have one. Honestly it would be really weird for me to put down a title I came up with right now, it feels childish.”

“May I suggest something?” asks the bartender, a tired look on his face, “Why don’t I just put you down as Embla Arenei. It’s got a nice ring to it, and it sounds like they’re both names you go by. At least nobody who knows you will mistake you for someone else.”

Embla just looks at him for a moment, then a bright smile spreads across her face. “Yeah, that’ll work! Never even considered that, haven’t had a last name before!”

“Alright,” the bartender replies, “just try not to set fire to the building.”

Len leads her around a corner into a hallway, with three doors that seem to be for privies, and a fourth that opens to a set of stairs going down. After what seems like about four floors or so of walking, the staircase opens into a cavern, vaulted ceiling high above the finely paved floor. Surrounding a sand floored pit, benches are full of people watch the fighting below, and drinks are served almost continuously to the rowdy spectators. Above it all are several platforms with fine seats, from which watch a more refined crowd.

“Welcome to the Godless, best place to drink in this awful city!” says Len, as they walk toward the benches, “The free for all hasn’t started yet, and probably won’t start until at least an hour from now. Until then, you can be as loud as you like, but the rule is, if you start a fight, they throw you in the pit, and whoever is fighting will all go for you. So don’t start a fight. Drinks aren’t cheap, but they’re not  _ too _ expensive if you don’t go for something fancy.”

Embla nods, and asks, “Where can I find out when it’s time for my fight?”

Len points over to a large woman sitting next to the arena. “You ask her, though don’t be surprised if she’s not too friendly.”

Embla thanks him, then walks over to the one he indicated. She is tall, strong looking, and a bit fat, and she wears a utilitarian green tunic that makes it all look amazing. “So when’s the free for all,” Embla asks.

“Twelve fights from now. You in?” she replies with a gruff, disinterested voice.

“Yeah, name’s Embla. I’m new.”

“Let’s get something straight. Win the fight, and I might bother learning your name. Until then, you’re just someone new for the champions to knock around. Now stop wasting my time, I have things to do.”

With a petulant look, Embla turns and walks away. She finds a bench with a few empty spots, and sits down in a space with no neighbors. She starts watching the fight intently, trying to get a feel for the combatants. She gets so enthralled by the battle, that she almost jumps when someone speaks to her.

“You new here?” As Embla turns and sees him, he continues, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, and I know I’d recognize a pretty face like yours.” The man speaking is of demon blood, much like her, though his horns grow smaller, and his skin is red as blood. His easy smile shows pointed teeth, and his completely white hair rests on his shoulders. He wears an orange vest with golden embroidery, and his slender arms are uncovered. He also wears a pair of finely polished knee high boots in white-stained leather, and his trousers are black linen. It gives Embla the impression of a toddler throwing paint at a wall, but in a good way.

“Yeah, I’m new,” she replies, “I only learned about this place yesterday, but I signed up as soon as I could.”

“First day and you’re already fighting? You’re braver than me,” the man says, “The name’s Zekkir, you?” He takes a seat next to her, and takes a closer look at her, his eyes lingering for a while longer than strictly necessary.

She smiles at him. The slow, wide smile of someone who suddenly knows what they want. “Embla.”

“Well, Embla, can I buy you a drink?” he asks, returning her hungry smile with a self-satisfied one.

“You know, Zekkir. I think you can.”

They talk, they drink, and they laugh, and when it’s time for Embla to enter the arena, she leaves him with her robe, promising that if he keeps it safe for her until she comes back, he can take the rest off later. She walks up to the entrance, and finally gets a look at her competition. There are five other fighters in the free for all. One is a strong looking redheaded man, in scraps of armour, with a nasty looking poleaxe in his hands, and a short sword at his hip. Next are two nearly identical looking women, clearly twins, both wearing heavy clothing, but otherwise unarmoured. They wield crude maces, and they both have flimsy-looking wooden shields. The other mage is a pale-looking fellow, with a long wooden staff, a blue robe, and a pair of glasses that have seemingly been repaired several times. And at last there’s Ferra, who is staring daggers at Embla, though hasn’t spoken against her entry. Ferra is wearing leathers and layered fabric. She has a mean looking axe, and a chipped sword. After some instruction from the big lady who runs the place, they all find their positions on the battlefield. They stand in a circle, the mages opposite, while ferra and one of the twins take the places closest to Embla. The judge looks them over, double checking that nothing is out of order, and then a loud whistle announces the start of the fight.

Ferra and the twin immediately charge Embla, and she only has a moment to act. She takes it, and sends out a wide blast of fire, trying to push them both back. The twin stumbles backwards as planned, but Ferra jumps to the side and continues her charge. Embla tries to force her back with another blast, but in the critical moment is startled by a thunderclap from the opposite side of the arena, as the other mage waves a hand in front of him and throws his assailants back. Embla’s magic fails, and Ferra manages to stab her sword deep into her thigh. As Embla feels the blood spurting from her leg, and watches as Ferra swings the axe at her side, she feels her blood boil, and in that moment she rejects what the world told her she is. She is a burning blaze, and Ferra would feel it. Embla manages to get her arm in the way of the axe’s handle, and while she feels her bones cracking, the air around her ignites into a whirlwind of flame. Ferra shields her face and stumbles back, letting go of the sword still stuck in Embla’s thigh. The heat singes Ferra’s hair, and stops the twin who was now heading her way in her tracks. Embla lashes out, handling the blaze like a whip, and strikes at Ferra’s feet, forcing her backwards. The sword falls from her leg, metal going soft from the heat. The twin decides to cut her losses and join her sister in attempting to subdue the other mage, who at this point was losing a lot of ground, leaving Ferra to deal with the inferno herself. She keeps on the defensive, trying to spot a weakness in the pattern, leaping back, then to the side, then back again. When she stumbles just for a moment, Embla takes that chance to send a torrent of fire into her, and Ferra falls to the ground. Embla turns to face the other fighters, who all watch her, the other mage dealt with. They look at her with fear in their eyes, and Embla loves it. Finally the large one with the poleaxe charges towards her, hoping to use his reach to get a hit in despite the flames, but he doesn't reach her before the fire vanishes in a single moment, and Embla falls to the ground unconscious.

When she wakes up, she is face to face with someone in immaculate white robes, and with a faceless wooden mask. She thinks she hears someone say something, but can’t quite make out what it is. She thinks someone puts a hand on her leg, and then, in a single moment, she feels power surging through her, healing her wound, and filling her head with clarity. She immediately sits up, breathing heavily. The masked person nods, and whispers in a way that somehow still lets her hear it, “She will live on without injury.”

“Not when I’m done with her she isn’t!” Ferra’s voice is a sobering reminder of what Embla did, though there are no burn marks on her. The healers here must be good at what they do. “Who the hell told you about this place anyway?”

Embla feels herself wincing under the tirade, but in a small voice says, “Nobody, I found it myself.”

“I severely doubt it. Did Len put you up to this? Did he try to get you to sign up?”

“No, this was all my idea.”

“Argh! You’re impossible. Whatever, he’s the only one I know who would tell you about this anyway. He set you up for failure, you know, almost no newcomers get anywhere in the pit, and you’re no exception so far.”

“Alright, I get it! You don’t think I should have come here, but I don’t regret a single moment! This was amazing!”

“Even the part where you somehow managed to pass out from blood loss, while at the same time overtaxing yourself with more magic than you could possibly handle?”

Embla’s defiant smile falls from her face, and she looks down at the ground between her legs. “Forget it, alright. I have things to do.”

Ferra’s tone softens, “At least you paid the healer’s fee, I’d hate to see you die. Did you bring a second set of clothes?”

Embla suddenly becomes aware of the state of what she’s wearing. It’s barely rags, mostly burned away. The little that’s still left barely covers the essentials, and it’s all scorched. “Yeah, I have my robe. Just gotta go get it.”

“Well go do that then. Make sure you come home by noon tomorrow, we have some things to discuss.”

Embla walks toward the bench where she left Zekkir, and finds he’s not alone. Her confident stride is slightly undermined by her dizziness, but she manages to get close enough for one of them to spot her without incident. As soon as someone points Embla out to him, Zekkir leaps to his feet, and rushes over to her.

“That,” he begins, with awe in his voice, “was amazing! Where the hell did you pull that much power from?” He quickly wraps her robe around her, and kneels down to tie her sash.

“I don’t know to be honest,” Embla replies, slowly becoming aware of how the entire group Zekkir was with are now looking at her. “Sometimes I can just  _ feel _ the fire, you know? And those times I feel like I could do anything, like nothing in the world can put out the fire I bring.”

“That’s almost poetic, Embla,” Zekkir says with a grin, as he finishes tying her sash, “didn’t think you had it in you.” He tries to stand up, but Embla puts a hand on his head, and pushes him back down.

“If you’re gonna call me poetic, you can stay on your knees long enough to apologize for it.” She gets a wicked smile on her face. “Actually, you can stay on your knees longer if you like, I quite enjoy it.”

“Well in that case, I’ll make sure never to apologize to you, so you can put me on my knees whenever you wish!” he replies enthusiastically. “Though maybe we should find somewhere more private if that’s what we’re doing.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” she asks, but when she takes her hand off his head she stumbles, and lets out a nervous laugh that almost completely kills the mood. “Might have to take it a bit slower than I had planned though. I lost a lot of blood down there.”

“Oh don’t worry, Embla. I’ll treat you like a queen.” Zekkir says, standing up and taking her hand, and with an exaggerated bow, he kisses it. As they turn and leave, the group he was with lets out cheers, whistles, and applause.


	7. Entitlement

Aurora leaves the throne room, unsure if she will ever see it again as a free woman. She’s fine. Aurora studies her magic, with a dark pit in her stomach. She is completely fine. Aurora eats a delicious dinner, she doesn’t notice the taste of it. She has to be fine, people are watching. She goes to bed, not having a single clear memory after the petition. Guards are in the hallway outside her door, still no privacy. She can’t sleep. She finds the garden in the night. The guards are supposed to accompany her wherever she goes, but they didn’t see her leave her room, so that’s their problem. She’s in her shift, and the white fabric quickly stains as she sits down in the grass behind a hedge, leaning on a wall and hugging her legs. She cries for what she’s gained, and is sure she’ll lose. She cries with sadness, and anger, and despair, and hate. Someone is calling out for her, but she doesn’t care. Someone is in the garden, but she doesn’t care. Everything she built is crumbling, including her. She grieves her future, as it seems to have slipped beyond her reach. She sits there for hours. In a moment, she sees the white space again, her Spirit in the same, pathetic pose as her. She sees the reflection of her identity, and sees that same beaten and bloody form she saw all those years ago. Yes, the shape is more comfortable, but the wounds have only been covered up with silk and gold, left there to fester rather than heal.

“I need to stop ignoring myself,” her Spirit says, “I can only look away for so long.”

Aurora chokes on her words as she talks through her sobs, “I didn’t call on you. I want to be alone!”

The Spirit looks confused at this. “Who am I talking to? It’s only me here.”

“Me!” Aurora yells. She closes her eyes and rests her face on her knees. “I can’t talk to me right now.”

“I’m ignoring me again. I can’t keep doing this, it’s becoming too much.” The Spirit’s emotionless voice is not comforting, and the words spoken hardly makes it better.

“I said I want to be alone right now. Please just let me sit here in peace.” Her sobs have slowed, and her voice is pleading. She doesn’t even have the energy to give her Spirit a reason to leave, she simply can’t stand looking at it. It’s too much of a reminder of things she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“But I’m always alone.”

A voice shakes Aurora out of the white space. She doesn’t react to it, she didn’t even really hear what the voice said. When she hears it again she immediately recognizes it, and lets out a frustrated moan.

The redheaded guard says, “Hey, are you alright? Who are you talking to?” Her voice is missing some of its usual bite. “You’ve been missing for a long time, I don’t think I would have found you until morning if you hadn't yelled.”

Aurora looks away, not wanting another round of threats and barbs from this woman who she had done nothing to. “I’m not, and myself,” she says, voice muddled by her crying. “Can you leave?”

The guard takes a long look at her. She undoes the chinstrap on her helmet, and pulls it off. She unties a ribbon, and her red curly hair cascades down just past her shoulders, longer than Aurora thought it would be. She walks up to the crying girl’s improvised seat, and sits herself down next to her. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

They sit there in silence, Aurora looking down at the ground, and the guard looking ahead. She makes no attempt to move closer, simply sitting there. She doesn’t try to move Aurora away, and she doesn’t try to push her into talking. It’s strangely comforting, and after a while, Aurora finds herself resting her head on the guard’s shoulder, teary eyes closed.

When some time has passed, Aurora hears her speak again. “Did you really do it? The Spirit stuff I mean.”

“Yeah,” Aurora replies, voice still muddled, eyes still closed.

“It sounds… scary. Why didn’t you just petition the gods? It’s what other people like us usually do.”

Aurora scoffs, some of her usual attitude pushing through, as she has the opportunity to argue about her actions, instead of simply dwelling on how everything went wrong. “I’d already waited two years for my turn. Without paying the fee I probably had another five left before I could try, and I felt like I couldn't take another day of it. When I found an alternative solution, I took it. Besides, you know what they’re like. They do everything in their power to throw out as many as possible before they even reach the door.”

“What about your neighborhood? Lots of people can gather enough coin by asking around.”

At this, Aurora lifts her head from the guard’s shoulder and looks her straight in the eyes. “Are you serious? Beyond my own mother, there was barely one other person who didn’t despise me, and I might have doomed him by coming here.”

“Oh,” the guard replied, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

Aurora’s heart skips a beat at that, but after a moment she faces forward again, and with frustration and anger and sadness in her voice says, “Everything I’ve ever had has either been taken from me, or I’ve been forced to leave it behind. I don’t understand why everything I touch gets ruined! I grow up with nothing. I find a single person who shows me a little bit of kindness, and I’ll likely never see him again. I’m chased and beaten, and when I try to defend myself, they refuse my right to do so. How many times am I going to be punished for the crime of being born?”

After a long pause, the guard says, “I’m sorry.”

Aurora is silent, again resting her face on her knees. After a few moments she suddenly looks up at the guard, hint of a blush forming on her face. “Oh gods, I… I never asked your name!” She buries her head in her hands, and begins to mutter, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed this all on you, I don’t even know your name! I’m an idiot, this isn’t your business, I’m sorry for wasting your time, I’m a mess, I should have kept it to myself, this was an awful thing to do to you. Please just forget about-”

“Pava.”

Aurora stops her rambling and looks up at the guard. The woman is smiling down at her. An awkward, uncomfortable, but ultimately kind smile. “W… what?”

“My name,” the guard says, “It’s Pava.”

Aurora chokes on a laugh and says, “Hi Pava.”

“Hi. Do you think you can come with me back to your room?”

“Yeah just… just give me a moment.”

“Think you could spend that moment helping me tie my hair back again? I’m not gonna get the helmet back on otherwise.”

“Yeah I, yeah.”

Pava walks Aurora back to her room. She helps her brush the worst of the dirt and grime off her shift, and makes sure she goes to bed. Soon after, she hears soft snoring under the door.

In the morning, Pava declines the offer of a guard change, and keeps close to Aurora. After a scolding from Yann about taking care of her clothes, Aurora begins her solemn trip to Roenon’s study, Pava keeping close behind. When they arrive Aurora takes a deep breath, and enters, leaving Pava outside. As soon as she crosses the threshold, the door shuts behind her. Roenon sits at his desk, as he usually does, while Verat has chosen to stand. She takes her usual seat, and the two gods study her intently. After a few moments, Roenon’s expression softens.

“Girl, why didn’t you tell us?” Roenon says, voice surprisingly gentle.

“I didn’t know,” answers Aurora, “I had no idea it was illegal.”

“You were supposed to tell me about all of your talents, that should have included the fact that you’re a Spirit master!”

“I’m not really a Spirit master,” Aurora answers, looking nervously up at Verat, who has yet to speak. Her voice is trembling. “I made one change, based on instructions in a book. At most I’ve acknowledged the existence of the art.”

“Which book?” demands Verat, his voice just as stern as Aurora was afraid it would be.

“Uhm, I remember that it was something with ‘Identity and Spirits,’ and something about small gods? It was years ago, I don’t remember exactly.” She barely manages to hide her desperation.

Verat walks to a bookshelf, and when he raises a hand, a book floats down from high above. He takes the book back to the table, and puts it down in front of Aurora. “This book?”

She looks down at a pristine copy of “The nature of Identity and its Spirits, the small gods around and within us.” She nods.

Verat and Roenon share a meaningful look, and Verat begins walking around the room, collecting more books. He places them in front of her, and Roenon says with a voice not quite as stern as Verat’s, “You may stay for now, but you will not receive any more lessons until you learn this one. You will read these books thoroughly, and you will understand why what you have done is dangerous and reckless. You will also tell us right now the nature of the change you made. What exactly did you ask from your Spirit?”

Aurora looks down, feeling their disapproval. “I asked for a body that didn’t make me feel sick. One that I wanted to live in, instead of endure. I asked for the ability to feel safe and at home with myself, instead of despising every change my body went through.”

The two gods share a look again, and Aurora almost thinks they look concerned. “You’re dismissed. Bring the books, and read.”

Aurora shuffles out of the room, head bowed, and arms full. When she opens the door it interrupts Pava, who immediately stops what she was saying, apparently not wanting her to hear. Pava wears an expression of awkward worry, and the guard she was talking to, the ever silent brown skinned man, shares it. Aurora brushes past them, holding back tears. Why do they suddenly care? She’s not sure if she’s feeling disgusted at their pity, which she does not want, or grateful at their sympathy, which she desperately desires. Either way it’s far too much for her, and she walks with a brisk pace towards her room. She almost runs straight into Sharas, who is standing in the hallway, just a few dozen feet from her door.

“Going somewhere, demon?” she asks, a vicious smile on her face, “You look like you’re not doing too well, are you sure you should be wandering the palace?”

Aurora keeps her face down, trying her best to hide the tears that are now beyond her power to keep away. “Move.” she whispers, knowing her voice would betray just how bad she felt.

“Now, where did your clever little tongue go? You had such a way with words yesterday, one would almost think your vocabulary ran away from you.”

Pava steps forward, almost placing herself between the two. “Lady Stonevine, step aside. Aurora has matters to attend to.”

Sharas takes a single step to the left, and stares into Pava’s eyes with a venomous glare. As Aurora steps past her, she says, “I just thought the creature could use a little talk. After all, if she feels entitled to our kings’ time, the least she could do is greet the nobility as is proper.”

Aurora hears the word “entitled,” and something snaps. She stops in her tracks, books falling from her arms as she pushes her hands down at her sides, fists clenched. Truths race through her head, the almost infinite ways she could kill this woman. She could tear her limb from limb and turn whatever remained into dust. It takes every ounce of her restraint not to do it. “I really hate people like you.” she says, voice filled with ice-cold hatred. Sharas begins to speak, but can’t finish her first word before a bolt of lightning arcs over her shoulder, cutting her reply short. “You talk about entitlement, as if you don’t have everything I didn’t? You talk about justice, as if you don’t step on people daily, expecting not to be punished for it.” Aurora turns, and takes a step towards Sharas. She looks up at the woman, and while tears and snot stain her face, her expression is one of a cold blooded killer. “You talk about power, as if I couldn’t destroy you completely, right here and now. A thousand ways to kill you are flowing through my mind, and it’s taking a lot of effort to convince myself that it wouldn’t be worth it. Don’t make it harder for me.”

Sharas needs a moment to recover from her shock, but when she does, she says with a nervous smile, “You wouldn’t get away with it this time, you’d truly be a murderer.”

Aurora sends a smile back. It is far from a comforting one. “And yet, you would be dead. I would have rid the world of another spoiled, overgrown brat. Wail at the world all you want, it won’t simply change on your whim.  _ I _ am the only one here who gets to weave reality.”

Pava slowly reaches out, and puts a hand on Aurora’s shoulder. She gives it a squeeze that she hopes is calming, and carefully tries to move the enraged mage back. Aurora lets herself be pulled away, and bows down to pick up her books. When she has collected them, she stands tall, and with a clear voice says, “My name is Aurora Kairaan. Use it, or pay for the indiscretion.”

When she finally closes the door to her room, Aurora immediately loses all her grace and posture. She slumps down to the floor, leaning on the door and letting the books scatter. For a fair few minutes she simply sits there. She’s tired, just so tired. Her day has barely begun and she already feels unable to stand. She hadn’t even had time to think about her night in the garden. How had her Spirit called her? She thought it was something that simply existed, being an embodiment of her, a god of her identity. She thought it was supposed to simply be, and the only way she could communicate was when she reached out with an offering. She had to read the books to find out, but right now that seemed an impossible task. She simply did not have the energy to do research. Sitting there, thinking about a problem she had no solution to, so that she would not think about the things that hurt, she suddenly notices that someone is talking outside. Pava is speaking in a hushed voice, and it’s far too quiet for Aurora to hear what she is saying. After considering it for a moment, Aurora decides she needs to hear it. Pava saw her in the garden. She knows of her vulnerability, and that is a danger.

Aurora begins weaving truths, speaking them in the divine language to invoke the gods’ authority, a potent truth on its own. “Pava and I formed an emotional connection last night. Emotional connections are connections of the mind and heart. The mind communicates with others through language. Language is communicated through words either spoken or written. Those who are connected have an easier time to communicate.”

Aurora pierces the truths with her own, pinning them together as one. Pava’s voice immediately becomes clear, and Aurora almost jumps at how well it works. This was very different from Roenon’s mind connection spell, she could hear the words as if Pava was standing next to her.

“-And I feel horrible! I don’t know what I should even do. She must hate me, I know I would!... Come on you know I treated her like shit... I don’t know, something about seeing her yesterday night was just, it changed things.”

Aurora had expected to only hear Pava’s voice through the spell, but she had thought it was a monologue, since she couldn’t hear another voice through the door. Was the other party whispering? Or communicating some other way maybe.

“I don’t know, I expected her to be walking around with her usual insufferable confidence. I thought I was gonna have to drag her back with her smug face as a reminder that she managed to sneak past me. I wasn’t expecting to find a crying girl, terrified she was going to lose everything... No, I told you, I don’t know who she was talking to.”

Aurora begins to worry. She had forgotten that the way Pava found her was her yelling. It wasn’t a comforting thought to know that while she was in the white space, with no knowledge of her surroundings, others could see and hear everything she did. She had thought that speaking to her Spirit would lend her some privacy, but apparently it did not.

“But what can I do? After everything I did already, why would she want to even talk to me? I just want to show that I really meant it when I apologised. From what she told me, she’s already been through enough, I don’t want to add to that.”

Aurora can’t take it anymore. The way Pava talked about her, seeming to really care… people didn’t care about her like that, it just didn’t happen! This is too much for her to listen to, the feelings welling up are too overwhelming. She stops holding the spell, and sits there for a moment, listening to the muffled voice outside. She then stands, picking the books up from the floor, and placing them on the desk by her window. She wipes her face with a handkerchief, takes a deep breath, and opens the door. The conversation stops, and with as much composure as she can muster, Aurora says, “Pava? Can I speak to you inside?”

Pava stands there, taking a moment to process what Aurora is asking. She then nods, and says “Uh, yeah. Yeah I’m coming.”

Aurora steps back into the room, and sits down on the side of her large bed. Pava enters and closes the door, and sits down next to her.

Aurora, determined to stay composed, and to be honest with the only one who has shown her real kindness, says, “I… I need to apologize to you.”

“No. You don’t need to apologize, if anyone does, it’s me.”

“You don’t understand.” Aurora takes a deep breath. “I heard you, outside. I was scared, and I took measures so I could listen to what you said.”

“I… what?” Pava looks confused and concerned, but seemingly isn’t angry. “How did you… how did you even do that? I thought I was being quiet enough.”

Aurora can’t help but chuckle a bit, and a single sob escapes in the process. “You realise I’m a very competent mage, right?”

Pava’s face goes red with embarrassment, and she laughs a little herself. “Yeah, I guess I should have thought about that.” She pauses for a few seconds. “I don’t blame you. I understand that the palace doesn’t exactly feel safe for you right now. You didn’t want to be left in the dark when people were talking about you.”

Aurora nods, then smiles, then can’t help but sniffle, tears threatening to return. She silently curses her lack of restraint.

Pava smiles, then removes her helmet and places it carefully on the floor. She leaves her hair bound. She looks down, and carefully glances at Aurora. “Despite how much of an asshole I’ve been to you, do you think you could manage not to hate me? I know I don’t deserve it, but I think it would be nice for you to have someone to talk to.”

Aurora’s breath catches in her throat, and she immediately turns into a sobbing mess. Overwhelmed by her emotions and in dire need of comfort, she collapses against Pava, leaning on her like she did in the garden. Pava is startled by the sudden closeness, but after a moment awkwardly pulls Aurora into a hug, resting her head on Aurora’s, and Aurora resting hers on her chest. Pava doesn’t quite know what to do, but she takes the arms wrapped around her as a yes.

“Do you want to lay down for a bit?” Pava asks.

Between sobs, Aurora manages a small “Yes.”

Pava slowly lays the woman down, and after a moment of consideration, awkwardly brushes the hair out of her face. She tries to rise, but Aurora grabs her arm.

“Please stay.” Her voice is pathetic.

“I just need to be there for the shift change.”

_ “Please?” _

“I’m sorry, I have to. I can come back, if you want.”

The grip on Pava’s arm softens, and after she gives one of Aurora’s hands a gentle squeeze, she rises, and walks up to the door. She takes one last look at Aurora Kairaan, the oh so proud apprentice to Roenon. A sad, lonely, broken thing, desperately clinging to any hint of kindness she can find. She turns away and leaves through the door. She’s not sure what she is doing, but she knows that doing nothing would feel so much worse. Hopefully this was worth it.


	8. Almost Too Late

Emba wakes first, only slightly hung over. She pats Zekkir lightly on the cheek before getting up to collect her clothes, which are scattered across the floor. After some searching she finds a washbasin, and cleans herself up as well as she can manage. She gets fully dressed, using her burnt clothes as undergarments for her robe, and kneels down by the bed. She gives Zekkir a nudge, waking him up, and he looks up at her with a stupid smile.

Embla smiles back, admiring his adorable sleepy face. “I gotta go, you mind if I grab some of your bread on the way out?”

He looks disappointed, and is clearly more of a mess this morning than she is. “Can’t you stay? I’d love to show you around the area, maybe find a nice place to relax.”

“Afraid not, gotta meet up with the rest of my group at noon, and with how long we stayed up, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m late already.” She really hoped she wasn’t, Ferra would be so mad.

“Alright, you can have your bread if you give me something in return: a kiss now before you leave, and a kiss next time you see me. Wouldn’t want you to run off on me now, would I.” He smiles again, clearly satisfied with his morning genius. Or maybe just satisfied in general.

“Now that,” Embla eagerly says, “I can promise!”

She kisses him hungrily, grabbing his hair with one hand, and around his waist with the other. She leans on him, pushing him down and pulling him close, and he melts in the merciless embrace of her hands and lips. They both fall onto the bed, Zekkir beneath her, where he belongs. She holds the kiss for a long time before letting go of him, and lifts herself slowly upwards. He rises, determined to keep the kiss going for as long as possible, and when she finally pulls away further than he can follow, she looks down on him with her head cocked just slightly to the side. In a deep voice full of desire, she almost growls, “Don’t be greedy now. Save some for later.”

Zekkir stares after her, eyes begging for more, but only managing to whimper.

She grins, marvelling at how easily that smooth talking bastard turns into a sad little puppy, whining for more. Damn Ferra, why did it have to be today? She walks away, sparing him one more glance as she leaves through the door. He is sitting on the bed, looking after her with longing and lust, and she decides she will have to see him again. He was so much fun to spend a single night with, she was looking forward to seeing what she could do with more time on her hands.

Some time later, Embla enters the lion’s den. Len is sitting on a chair by the table, while Ferra is leaning against a wall, impatiently tossing a knife into the air and catching it. The scarred woman shoots her an angry look, and Embla immediately cringes, suddenly worried about exactly how late she is. The sun was still high, so it couldn’t be  _ that _ bad, could it?

“You’re late,” Ferra says, ice in her voice, “you should have been here a half hour ago, at least!”

Embla feels embarrassed and relieved at the same time. Only half an hour. “I’m sorry, got caught up with something last night, stayed up longer than I planned.”

“Don’t let it happen again. When I say we need to talk, there’s reasons for it. If you’d been later you might have fucked it all up.”

Embla’s curiosity gets the better of her, and she risks a look at Ferra’s face. She sees anger and disappointment. “Fucked what up?” she says, carefully trying to steer the conversation away from her own mistake.

Ferra sighs with frustration, and says, “We got picked for a bigger job. The boss needs us to be security for someone heading to a talk. No, we don’t get to know what the talk is about, and no, we don’t get to know who’s talking to who. We’ll just make sure that they make it to the place, and that they make it back.”

Len quickly shoots in, “How do we protect someone if we don’t get to see them?”

“Fair question,” Ferra replies, “they’ll be in a closed carriage. Len, I already know you can drive one, though I doubt Embla can say the same. And I guess I misspoke earlier. You don’t get to know who it is, but I’ll be riding with them in the carriage, while you two will be outside. You’ll deal with anyone trying to get too close, and I’ll deal with anyone who manages to slip past you.”

“So,” begins Embla, “how close is too close, and how do you want us to deal with it? I assume you don’t want me to set fire to people who happen to wander near a carriage in the street.”

“Try to scare off people who look like they’re gonna walk up to the doors, and avoid setting things on fire until you know we’re under attack.”

Len nods but stays silent, so Embla asks, “When and where do we pick them up?”

“They'll be in the carriage by the time they pass by here around the next toll of the bell, so since you’re late, in about half an hour.”

Embla nods, and begins rooting through her things. If she was gonna get into a fight, she needed something better under her robe. Tattered rags would not be comfortable.

When the carriage arrives, Embla eagerly climbs up on the seat next to the driver, and Len soon joins her, taking the reins from the man who brought it here. When they’re in place, Ferra opens the door, pushes past a black curtain, and closes it behind her. Muffled voices come from inside, presumably greetings and small talk. A small window covered in a grate and black cloth opens behind Embla and Len, and Ferra’s voice rings through, telling them where to go. They were apparently taking some pretty extreme precautions to stay anonymous. They move, and Embla has a lot of fun getting out her most vicious-looking grin to scare people away. She makes a game of it, how long can she go without making a direct threat. Turns out, quite long. It’s not until they’re nearly arrived that she has to get her hands dirty.

A burly man in clothes that might once have been worthy of royalty, but now were so worn they looked like they’d been trampled a hundred times over, walks a bit too close to the door. Embla finds her smile, and says, “Hey, I think it’s time you step back a bit,” but the man is not deterred. She gives Len a quick jab in the side to get his attention, then grabs the top of the carriage, and begins to swing down towards the ground. The man suddenly grabs for the door handle, moving quicker than he had any right to. Embla thinks fast, and turns her fancy way of getting down into a swinging kick, hitting the man in the side. With the full weight of a short young woman behind it, the kick knocks the man half a step to the side. He slams the door open, but is surprised to find the curtain blocking his view. Not seeing Embla as a threat, he tries to pull the curtain aside, but Embla doesn’t like being ignored. She grabs his collar, and holds up her fist as if ready to land a punch. The man doesn’t react until her hand is engulfed in flames, at which point he stumbles back, shielding his face from the heat. He pulls her away while trying to flee from the fire, and she lets him. After a moment, Ferra’s scarred hand emerges from the curtain and closes the door. Embla lets go of the man, and lights a large fire between her and him, sprouting directly from the cobblestones. As the man runs, she yells after him, “Yeah! You stay away!” Before jogging back to join Len at the front. The fire fades as she leaves it behind.

“We need to get you a knife or something,” he says, “the fire thing is way too flashy when you actually do it. Attracts too much attention.”

“Come on, Len,” she replies, “I scared him off, and if anything the flashiness is gonna scare away others who might try.”

“And if someone has ways of dealing with magic? Maybe they have a mage too! You gotta keep your cards close to your chest, keep the people after you on their toes. I bet Ferra could teach you a few tricks, concealing weapons, knife throwing, stuff like that.”

“If someone thinks they can face me, I welcome them to try! I’d love a challenge. How am I any better if I’m using tricks to win? If it’s not a fair fight it’s not really a victory, is it?”

Len scoffs. “We don’t need a victory, we need to do the job. If we pull this off without fucking it up we’ll probably get a bonus, you know? Maybe even a few full glass!”

“It’s fine! I’m good enough to scare off a few thugs, alright? It’s not gonna be a problem.”

“I’m more worried that you just let everyone in the fucking district know that there’s something worth protecting in here.”

“Yeah, but I also let them know that it’s well protected, so it’s fine.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right.”

The rest of the journey is uneventful, and soon they arrive at a goldsmith’s shop. They do as instructed, and place the carriage as close to the door as they can, and after a moment Ferra leads the stranger into the building. Whoever this person they’re protecting is, they’re wearing a cloak and hood that so thoroughly envelop them, that Embla can’t discern a single feature. They enter, and time passes. Embla starts to play with fire, weaving a candle flame between her fingers, as she often does. She can’t stand sitting around with absolutely nothing to do. She wishes she knew how to read, at least then she could bring a book or something. She doesn’t know how long it takes, but after what feels like an age, Len gives her a nudge.

“Hey, do you see it?” he asks, keeping as quiet as possible while still being audible over the noise of the city.

She tries to follow his gaze, but sees nothing but people in the street. “See what?”

“The same people are passing by a lot, keeping an eye on us. There’s more now than before as well. I think they’re preparing an ambush.”

“Doing a pretty bad job if it’s that easy to spot them, but I’ll be ready. Bet they’re waiting for the guy to leave, so they know they’ll get them.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Get ready for battle.”

Keeping an eye out the next few minutes, Embla confirms what Len said. Despite the danger, she’s unbelievably excited. She might just get a real fight today after all, an actual battle! She can feel her fire building, and she feeds it. She would need it today. The wait becomes almost unbearable. She was already bored before, but now she’s itching for a fight, not knowing how long it will take until she has her chance. She starts fidgeting, and she bounces one of her legs against the footrest, to let out some of her idle energy. She doesn’t trust herself to play with the flame anymore, she’s stoked the fire so much that if she starts letting it out she might lose control. Her grasp on her power is good, but with how excited she is she might get carried away. Worried, Len looks over at her, and is terrified by what he sees. An evil grin and an eager look, on someone who clearly can’t keep still for long. He finds her excitement for mortal danger very unsettling. Hopefully it would give whoever the attackers were pause as well, when the gates were thrown open and the flames let loose.

Some time later, Ferra and the stranger exit the building. She immediately sees how Embla is acting, and quickly ushers the person into the carriage, following closely behind. The covered window opens, and she urgently says, “What’s got Embla excited?”

“We think there’s gonna be an ambush,” Len hisses back. “We’ve spotted a good 15 people hanging around the area, we think they’re gonna attack when we start moving.”

“Well in that case, move fast!”

The window shuts with a click, and Len quickly gets the horses moving, trying to whip them into a gallop. It was a risk, but right how he considered speed the best option. They could outrun these people. “Embla, clear us a path!”

Her grin remains, as cruel as it’s ever been, and she takes a deep breath. “Finally.” She sets the air alight in front of them, a plow of burning heat, pushing its way into the group of thugs, who had quickly lined up in their path. When the flames have driven them apart, she splits it into two walls, pushing either side of the group away from each other, clearing the street directly ahead. The horses are only a step away from panic as they charge through the burning corridor, but Len manages to at least keep them running in the right direction. As they continue onwards, they hear hoofbeats from the side. Three horses charge out from an alleyway, easily keeping pace with their carriage. Two of them begin moving up the sides, while the third stays behind, keeping them from slowing. She sees crossbows, swords, and masks on the ones who move up. She tries to throw a fireball at the one on her side, but the moment she ignites her hand, she feels something pull at her flame, and it goes out before she can toss it. She looks back, and the last rider holds a staff towards her, chanting things she can’t hear over the wind. She nudges Len and shouts, “Keep us moving! I’m gonna try and take care of that mage.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, instead climbing to the top of the carriage, and looking the man in the eyes. A crossbow bolt flies by her, uncomfortably close. She would have to act fast.

The man continues chanting, and she can feel reality twisting around him, her hair standing on end. She looks at him, hearing him try to change reality, and it makes her angry. She’s the one who makes things from nothing, and the thing she makes is fire. She pushes that thought forward, letting it become the definition of her existence, and then, with all the effort she can muster, and all the power she collected, warps his spell. The twisting air around him explodes, throwing him from the saddle and sending his horse running. He rolls around on the ground, trying to put out the fire on his clothes, and Embla collapses backwards on the top of the carriage. She gathered so much strength during the wait, and it had taken all she had left to beat that mage. She looks over at the ones to the side, both of them stunned by the display of power. Then one of them shoots her. She feels the crossbow bolt pierce her side, and the pain is overwhelming. She desperately crawls back across the carriage, and collapses on the front seat, holding a hand to her wound. She tries to throw fire at the two riders, but barely manages embers. She has nothing left, and she is going to die here.

“Hold on,” yells Len, “I’m going to try something!” He quickly makes a turn, driving them into an alley that’s only barely wide enough for the cart. The two riders slow, and follow behind, one after the other. Crashing through the narrow street, Len reaches up, and grabs hold of a balcony. He is pulled off the driver’s seat, and hangs there in the air, to the surprise of the two following. He lets go just as the rider in front is about to pass under him, landing heavily on his feet just in front of the saddle, then kicking away. The horse, completely unprepared, stumbles and falls, and the second rider can’t react fast enough. They tumble to the ground, Len flying free as far as he can, and the alley behind him becomes a mess of broken bones and tangled bodies. He limps away as fast as he can, finding a place to hide.

Embla, realising she has no idea how to keep the horses under control, bangs on the carriage weakly, and through the pain manages to whimper, “Ferra, help.”

The window opens, and the cloth is ripped away, giving Ferra a clear view. She curses, and unlatches something, before throwing herself against the wall where the window is. The paint breaks in a large square around it, and she climbs out of the door that opens, one that was only visible from inside. She pushes Embla down into the carriage, takes the reins, and changes their course. They head for the Godless.

As they drive, the stranger keeps an eye on Embla. She’s in a lot of pain, and clutches her wound with an iron grip, eyes closed and face contorted. She hears a quiet voice from beneath the hood, saying, “You will not die from this. You will live.”

The words wash over her, clear as day despite the noise. There’s a strange sensation, but she’s not capable of figuring out what’s happening through the pain. She lies there, bleeding and crying, when the carriage stops. Ferra enters, pulling Embla up and supporting her, as they begin the walk towards the familiar bar. The stranger leaves in a different direction, and Embla does not have the energy to question it. The stranger sets the horses running, the cart clearly not worth much to them. As the two women stumble into the building, the bartender looks up, and immediately runs to fetch someone. Ferra apparently knows something, because she pulls Embla into a back room, and sits her down on one of several wooden platforms. After just a few moments, one of the robed healers from below finds their way into the chamber, and looks them both over. Ferra nods respectfully, and leaves the room. Without saying a word, the healer walks over and inspects Embla’s wound. They pull her hands away with unexpected strength, and grabs hold of the crossbow bolt, pulling it out. It’s painful beyond belief, and Embla almost falls unconscious. The healer pulls the cloth out of the wound where the silk of the robe was pushed in, and lays a hand on their patient’s bloody side. Power surges through them, and flows effortlessly into Embla. It feels like her wound is set on fire, but she doesn’t feel pain. Instead, she is reminded of waking up after the arena, a surge of awareness, of strength, as her body rejuvenates. She’s still drained, but at least she no longer feels like death is just around the corner. She thanks the masked healer, and lays down, exhausted. Before sleep claims her, she hears them say, “It is unknown how you survived, it should have been too late. Complications are possible, but not guaranteed.”

She decides that’s something to worry about later. Right now, she would rest.


	9. Emotions and Emptiness

Days? Weeks? Aurora isn’t sure she knows how long it’s been since she fell apart, and she’s not sure she cares. Time doesn’t mean much, the days are all the same regardless. She hadn’t left her room since that first day, when Pava promised she would come back, and to her credit, she did. She had been a single light in Aurora’s life ever since their talk in the garden. She was trusting that woman with too much. There was no way it was safe, but she couldn’t stop. Pava was the only one who listened without judgement, the only one with whom she didn’t have to measure and weigh every word. She knew she couldn’t trust it, she could never trust things like this, but as terrifying as it was, there was always that little voice, whispering in her mind, “maybe this time it will be alright.” It haunted Aurora, refusing to let her put herself at a safe distance. Whenever she tried to push away, she held on tighter. She knew she was never safe when Pava was around, but that was not how it felt. Pava was kind and gentle, and despite her own insistence that she look at it logically, Aurora couldn’t turn away. It was an addiction.

But now, on what could be her final day in the palace, maybe even her final day in this world, she faced judgement once again. It might be dressed up as a presentation of her conclusion, but she had no illusions. When she entered Roenon’s study, the stakes would be equivalent to a trial in the throne room. Life or death, work or exile, hold on to what she has or lose everything. She stands at the door, not feeling capable of lifting her hand to open it. She looks down, and despite everything, she feels empty. In the end, she has no power here, there is nothing she can do. The door is opened from the inside, and Verat looks down at her. She takes a breath, a tired sigh escaping. She does not greet the god as she enters, she does not raise her hunched shoulders. She isn’t sure she feels alive anymore, it’s all a deep emptiness, a buzzing feeling of nothing at all. She puts her notes down on the table, and sits.

“So,” Roenon says from his usual seat at the desk, “we received word you reached your conclusion.” His voice betrays a cautiousness she has never heard before, though he has never seen her in this state before either, so in the end his change in tone is no surprise.

“Yes,” replies Aurora. She no longer has the energy to put up her front, and her voice has all the vibrant emotion of lukewarm water. She looks down at her notes, and finds the words that will decide her fate. “What I did was dangerous, because unlike the when I weave truths, and unlike when sorcerers enforce their ideas, Spirit mastery is what we call true magic. A spell will, in almost all cases, layer a truth on top of the one enforced by reality, but Spirit mastery will change the fundamental truth of the world itself. The only way to bring something back to the way it was is by knowing its previous state, so that you can recreate the original situation. The obvious exception to this is to convince the relevant Spirits to reverse the change. It makes anything changed with Spirit mastery practically irreversible by anyone not extensively trained in the same craft, and that craft is outlawed.”

Aurora takes a moment. Her head is full of nothingness, thinking is an effort. She doesn’t look at the gods, she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t really want anything right now. She continues regardless. “What I did specifically was reckless, since when I convinced my spirit to change me, it established the truth that I can change. If a mage knows this, and since it was mentioned in the petition many will, they could invoke this truth to easily affect me with shapeshifting magic. There is no way to resolve this with spells. The only solution I can think of is further introspection, which is a dangerous art, even without taking these considerations into account. In other words, I am significantly more vulnerable than others when it comes to magical attacks attempting to transform me, and it’s all my fault.”

She waits for their response, but none comes. When the silence becomes too long for her, she looks up, trying to find out why. Roenon is simply staring at her, concerned, but not quite knowing what to say, so he instead says nothing. When Verat meets her gaze he only holds it for a few seconds before looking away. It’s as if she’s making them uncomfortable. She looks down again. She has no idea what to do now. The emptiness is pushing on her mind, a fuzzy feeling that makes her thoughts slow and strange. She doesn’t know how to make it go away. Unlike other emotions, you couldn’t shove nothingness into the back of your mind. She starts tearing small rifts into the edges of her sheet of notes. She doesn’t know why the impulse hits her, but doing something with her hands seems to help her keep from disappearing. After far too long, Verat seems to find his words, and clears his throat.

“Roenon and I have talked extensively about this. You broke the law, that much is true, but you never did anything to break our trust. Your behaviour here has been exemplary, the outburst against Sharas notwithstanding.”

Aurora freezes. They knew, they’d known this entire time! Of course they did, Pava was a guard. She would have written reports on all major incidents.

Roenon continues, “We… understand that there is tension between the two of you, and she has already been sent away. You will be allowed to continue your studies here, as per our original agreement, and we will not punish you for your dabbling with Spirit mastery, as we find you to be fully compliant with the spirit of the law, if not the letter. It was meant to stop masters from attempting uprising, not to stop little girls from feeling like themselves.”

Shouldn’t she be happy? It had gone about as well as it possibly could, why wasn’t she happy?

“You may leave now if you wish.” Roenon says, the uncertainty still tainting his voice.

What did she wish? She wanted to learn, yes, but why? Why did she decide on magic all those years ago? She stands up in silence, collects her notes, and walks away, the question never leaving her mind.

She walks to the garden, more out of habit than anything else. What does she want? Her hands feel strange, incoherent, fuzzy. She touches the leaves on the plants as she passes by, not knowing why she needs to feel her fingers brush over them. What does she want? The air is still, down here, but she can hear the rustling in the treetops. The sound of it is good, and she doesn’t know why. What does she want? After some time she can hear footsteps, and Pava calls her name, carefully, as she always does now. People have become so careful around her after her outburst, though it doesn’t seem to be from fear, at least from Pava. She seems more afraid to sound too much like her old self. If nothing else, Aurora knows that Pava isn’t scared of her. That would be too much after what they’d shared. Aurora doesn’t move towards the voice, she’s not sure why, it’s what she wants to do. Regardless, she’s on one of the main paths, she will be easy to find.

Shortly after, Pava sees her and comes closer, only slightly increasing her pace. She’s off duty, wearing a white shirt and a black vest. She wears dark brown trousers, and sturdy leather boots, and she carries a cloth-wrapped package under her arm. Belted to her sides are an arming sword and a dagger. As a guard she must always be ready for what may come, even if she’s not the one on watch.

“I heard you hadn’t eaten yet, so I brought some lunch for us. Do you think we could find somewhere to sit down?” She looks at Aurora nervously.

Aurora nods, and begins to move towards the closest bench, a few turns down the path. She looks down, hand brushing the foliage as she walks, face flat. That emptiness still haunts her, she feels like that should be scarier than it was, but the void had already swallowed her fear. Maybe if she felt nothing, she could finally live in peace.

Pava looks at her, concern written plainly on her face. It was always worse when Aurora was silent, it meant she was falling away. She begins talking, hoping that maybe she can drag her back, hear that clear, confident voice again. She hadn’t heard it in so long, and she cursed herself for not appreciating it while she had the opportunity. “You still haven’t told me much about what kind of food you like, so I just took something that looked good. Flatbread, some salmon, and I grabbed some sauce in a jar. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Aurora replies, her voice uneven, but her eyes still downcast, “thank you for taking care of me.”

Pava smiles, she’s still in there. The feelings might be buried deep, but she has time to dig. “It’s the least I could do. I took this job because I wanted to protect what’s important, and right now, what’s important is you.”

Ice shoots down Aurora’s chest. She looks up at Pava, and panic grips her. She has no idea what to do, some people might think she’s important, she was the apprentice of a god after all, but that sounded like she was important to  _ her! _ Pava looks back, and seeing the rush of emotion on the previously blank face, lets out a warm smile. Aurora blushes, and quickly looks down. Memories of her day almost lost to her, she finds the bench she was looking for. They sit, and Pava places the package between them. They unwrap their lunch, and for the first time in forever, Aurora forgets her worries, just for a moment. However, she only manages to get through half of her food before sobs start escaping. She tries to continue eating, but her body is having none of it. Apparently she was destined to ruin all good things in her life.

Pava looks horrified, and immediately asks, “What’s happening, did I do something wrong? I’m sorry, I thought this would be nice. Are you alright?”

With great effort, Aurora manages to swallow the food she has taken a bite of. Her crying cutting off her every other word, she says in a broken voice, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Pava immediately stops her fussing, realization hitting her like a sledgehammer. Her face softens, and she says, “Why do you think I need a reason? Maybe I just wanted to be nice?”

“But nobody’s nice to me,” Aurora whispers. She shuts her eyes, and her tears become waterfalls, far too heavy to keep back. Through it all, she tries and fails to speak clearly. “People think I’m a monster, a demon. Sometimes they’re right! I get so angry, I don’t know what to do except hurt people. I don’t deserve the things you do for me!”

Aurora’s hands are clenched, and with her eyes closed she jumps when she feels someone pick one up with both of theirs. Soldier’s hands, rough from training with the sword and spear, but she’s so careful, so gentle.

“You’re wrong.”

Only two words, but she never knew how desperately she needed to hear them. She slowly opens her eyes again, and looks up at Pava. She leaned in a bit while Aurora couldn’t see, and she looks down on the hand she holds. As she feels it fall slack, she slowly begins to unfold each finger, while she speaks in the most tender voice Aurora could ever imagine. “When was the last time you lashed out at someone who didn’t do something to you first? You’ve been hurt so many times, it’s become second nature. Do you even realize it’s wrong? You’ve heard the same lie told again and again, and it’s now the only thing that sounds true. Do you still remember how to ask why? You don’t let yourself feel, so when you can’t hold back anymore it all comes crashing down. Do you remember what it’s like to be happy, what it’s like to feel safe?”

Aurora’s hand is relaxed, guided by the soldier’s own, palm facing forwards. Pava places her own against it, intertwining their fingers as she closes it. Aurora looks at her, breathless. When her other hand is pulled up it opens, and soon that one too is held.

Pava leans closer, resting her forehead against Aurora’s. “I want you to know that despite all you’ve been through, you  _ do _ deserve to be happy, to feel safe.”

Aurora needs it so badly, and Pava is so close. It isn’t the smart thing to do, and she knows. Pava is fiercely loyal to her gods, and trusts them more than anything. Pava is a guard, sworn to duty over all else. Pava is an elite soldier, trained to follow orders that would make others go pale. It doesn’t matter, she figured out at least one thing she wants. Aurora kisses her.


	10. Memories

In the middle of the night, Embla wakes. An icy stabbing sensation pierces her side as she gasps for air, clawing at horrors from a half remembered dream. She looks around, panic slowly dying down as she remembers where she is. Still exhausted from yesterday’s excitement, it takes her a moment to realize how hungry she is. She rises, and immediately feels lightheaded. Carefully, she begins to stumble out into the front room, drops some coins on the counter, and the bartender, somehow still awake, gets her something to eat. After her meal, she is guided down into the Godless, and directed to one of several back rooms. Apparently the boss said she’s not to walk the streets, so to make her stay more comfortable, they’re lending her a bed. She falls asleep the moment she hits the mattress, and dreams of gentler things.

She’s not entirely conscious when she hears her. She groans weakly, turning over and covering her head with the pillow. Wait, where did she get a pillow? She opens her eyes, taking in her surroundings. The bed she collapsed on is red, a scarlet matched by the carpets, and the drapes covering the stone walls. The now familiar aches remind her how she got there.

Now awake, she hears Ferra’s voice clearly. “See? She’s waking up. You can do your thing if you wait a little bit longer. I need to talk to her first.”

Embla turns, and sees a healer nod and leave. She looks up at Ferra, and mumbles, “What’s going on?”

“Healers want to have another look at you, but I ain’t letting them get close while you sleep. They’re damn creepy, I don’t know what they’d end up doing.”

Embla almost smiles. Apparently she does actually care, that was nice to know. “Wouldn’t they just finish healing me?”

“They already did everything they could, that was the first thing I asked. They want to ‘examine’ you, and they refuse to tell me the details. Apparently you should be dead.”

“Well, despite how I’m feeling, I’m not.” She sits up. She’s complaining, but she’s doing much better now that she’s had a meal and some rest. “So what’s the deal, why did you say we needed to talk?”

“Boss might want a word. Apparently you blew up a trained war mage yesterday, at least if Len’s remembering it right.” Her voice is cautious, and her eyes are scanning the room, almost as if watching for eavesdroppers. “Keep on your toes, Embla. They take care of us, but they’re dangerous. Don’t get burnt playing with fire.”

“Fine,” Embla replies, as if fire was ever a problem for her. She’s not in the mood for secrets, not today. Ferra gives her a stern look, before heading for the door. When she reaches it, she stops, almost as if to say something, but she stays silent. She leaves, and the healer enters.

They look her over, and tell her she will be fine. Apparently there’s no reason to worry about complications this time, but the healing will take longer than usual. After receiving the good news, Embla finds her way into the Godless proper, ordering some breakfast and sitting down. She’s hungry again, as hungry as she was the last time she woke up. Was the healing doing that? After eating, she begins to wander. She has nowhere to go, and nothing to do. Hours pass, she’s restless. There aren’t any fights tonight, and she couldn't have participated even if there were. She walks with difficulty, but she needs to move. Her flame is still recovering, but she needs to burn. Nobody stops her as she walks into the arena, and as people start arriving for an evening drink, some turn their heads to look at what the strange girl is doing.

The steps are clumsy, barely remembered from a childhood lost to time, but she finds her rhythm quickly. She dances, like her mother taught her so long ago, and lets her power flow free. Fire circles her, kissing her fingers. It follows her every step, the most devoted dance partner she could ask for. It lashes out around her as she twirls, but never going far, always staying by her side. There was a familiar rhythm to it, heartbeat matching it’s touch. The memory of her mother is fresh once more, things remembered that she thought she had forgotten. A voice, a face, hands she had loved to hold. Her eyes fill with tears, but the fire lifts them away before they fall. She dances, never as good as her mother was, but trying her best regardless. The flame grazes her cheek, and the warmth feels like what she hasn’t had in so long. It feels like home.

Then she stumbles. Her legs finally give out under her, and as she falls backwards the blaze erupts towards the ceiling, burning out immediately as she loses her focus. A mix of cheers and concerned voices burst from the audience. Oh gods so many people were watching, what had she been thinking? The moment is soured by her embarrassment, and she covers her face in her hands as she lays there. After a few moments, someone comes to help her up. She brushes off their concern and refuses their praise, and with their help finds her way to a table. A few people buy her drinks, but she’s far too upset to enjoy them. Why did she do that, and why did she have to remember her now? People crowd around her, asking her questions she doesn’t want to answer. Where did she learn to dance? Is she alright? How did she control the fire with such accuracy, what truths did she use? Her patience inevitably runs out.

“Can I get some fucking room to breathe? I’m tired, I’m injured, and I don’t want to share my goddamn life story right now!”

The crowd disperses, mumbling things she doesn’t want to hear, and she nurses her drink in silence, trying to untangle her mess of emotions. She didn’t really want to be alone, but she couldn’t stand those constant questions. Better to be alone than think about those things, at least on the streets they had the decency to keep their mouths shut. If someone didn’t talk about the past, you didn’t ask, there was an understanding. It seemed people forgot that here. Some time later, Ferra sits down next to her, with a drink of her own.

The woman sits in silence a few moments, almost to confirm that she won’t be chased away. “Bad day?”

“Yeah,” Embla responds, staring into her drink, “People need to learn how to mind their fucking business. Either that, or I’ll end up setting someone on fire.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t, don’t want you thrown out.” She sighs, and says, “Since it seems you’ll be stuck here for a while, want me to get your stuff? You really need a change of clothes.”

“Sure, whatever. I want this thing fixed though, I like it.” She motions at her robe, covered in dried blood, and with a hole in the side.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

They sit there in silence, drinking slowly. After a while, Embla speaks up again. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

She smiles. “Minding your fucking business.”

Ferra raises her glass in a toast. “To minding our fucking business,” Ferra says, with a grin, “May we forever have enough sense not to piss off a sorcerer.”

A few more moments pass quietly, and Ferra asks, “You feeling better?”

“Yeah. I think I’m good,” Embla says, surprised to find that it’s true.

“Think you’re good enough to have a chat with the boss?”

“I… yeah, I think so. As long as he doesn’t start digging where he shouldn't.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” Ferra rises, and with some help, Embla does the same. She can stand on her own again now, but the support is greatly appreciated. They approach one of the platforms overlooking the establishment, are waved past the man guarding the staircase, and ascend. When they reach the top, Ferra drops Embla into a soft seat, and for a moment she closes her eyes and rests, taking in the comfort. Forcing herself to open them again, she takes in her surroundings. The platform is rectangular, with a wide dip in the middle. She is sitting inside it, just past the edge, where it’s lined with pillows all the way around. It acts as a seating area around the table in the center of the pit, where food and drinks are laid out. She is tempted to partake, but stops herself. She doesn’t know the rules here. A few more people sit along the edge, including Ferra, and to her delight, Zekkir. In the middle of the edge closest to the wall is what can almost be described as a throne. With a raised back, armrests, and luxurious padding, it draws the eye. While it inspires authority, it almost feels casual. The one sitting on it has shoulder length brown hair, pale skin, and black tattoos sprouting from the corners of their eyes. They wear clothes clearly made with comfort as the first consideration, but somehow they wear them well. They look at Embla with keen interest.

When they speak, it feels like every other sound fades. “First things first. You will always know how to refer to me.” The words of the command flow through her, she recognizes that feeling from somewhere. In her mind she suddenly knows with certainty that at this moment the boss prefers gender neutral terms. “With that out of the way, quite the show you put on down there. You sure that was a good idea? You know, considering your injuries.” Their voice is familiar, though she can’t immediately place it.

Embla didn’t know how to approach this person, but she was too tired to care. “Thanks, guessing you’re the boss then?”

“Yeah that’s me, but you didn’t answer my question. Are you feeling that much better already?” There was a teasing glint to their eyes, apparently they were trying to mess with her. She wasn’t in the mood.

“I’m tired, and I felt like it. Don’t see why you’re so curious.”

“I suppose that’s fair, but you’d do well learning some manners. I’m your boss, I expect  _ some _ respect. Regardless, let’s get to business. I’m impressed with you Embla! When I told Ferra to get a mage I was expecting some half-baked brat who couldn’t handle university, not a sorcerer with enough fire in her belly to throw old Goleim off his horse.” Suddenly she realized. This was the voice of the stranger in the carriage.

“Thanks. If I can ask, why did you put so much effort into hiding yourself, if you were just going to call me up here and tell me who you are?”

Ferra quickly shoots in, “Told you. She’s sharp.”

“Damn, thought I was being quiet enough. Oh well, done’s done. I trust you’re not stupid enough to go around telling people.”

“I’m not,” Embla says, slowly starting to find herself again, “but you said business. What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m thinking you’ve earned a promotion. I want Ferra’s whole team to take a more specialized role, deal with the more delicate side of this job. You’ve certainly proven yourself as a group, and you have gotten my attention with your little displays of power. Do take note that I called  _ you _ up here, not the other one. He got the offer through Ferra. Your new job will involve less frequent work, but it will certainly be more fun than what you’ve been doing so far.”

It at least sounded interesting. “Do I get a raise?”

“Hah! You certainly know the right questions to ask. You’ll be paid well, and with a bonus for work well done. What’s your current rate?”

“Five half-glass a week.”

The boss looks at Ferra with mock horror. “Five half-glass? That’s downright criminal!” They turn back to Embla, “I’ll double it. One full glass a week.”

Things were certainly looking up, better pay  _ and _ more exciting work? “Yeah I’ll definitely take that offer. What’s first?”

“Recover. I’ll need that fire of yours sooner or later, and I want you in perfect health. Oh, and practice. You’ll need to work on your stamina if you want to keep up.”

“Alright, I can do that.” She stretches, the opportunity for advancement a welcome distraction. Wanting to keep her mind away from the memories, she turns to Zekkir. “If I’ll keep meeting you whenever I get injured, I gotta start being less careful. Come here for a second.”

The others on the platform watch as he grins, and shuffles over. The moment she can reach him, Embla grabs him by the collar, and pulls him into a kiss. She’s gentler this time, in part because of her condition, and in part for the sake of him not making a fool of himself. When she’s done she pushes him off of her, and he stumbles back, managing to control his fall enough to end up in a seat. Embla smiles playfully, making herself think of him, and what she could do to him. “I keep my promises.”

The boss looks on, amused. “What the hell did he do to deserve that?”

Her smile widens as she turns towards them. “He got me breakfast.”


	11. Breathe

In the months following her clash with Sharas, Aurora slowly recovers. Between free evenings spent with Pava, and the assurance that her stay in the palace is more secure than she initially believed, she finds a way to feel like herself again. Her new relationship is unlike anything she had ever imagined. A moment spent with Pava was a moment she could breathe, a moment she could look up at the sky and feel happy. They take their meals together whenever they can, and they share their thoughts, their ideas, and their lives.

Her studies diversify, branching into law, the art of rule, and philosophy. She writes new and updated laws, based on the ethical and practical lessons she receives, but they are dismissed outright. The law as it stands was written by Saraien, Avatar of Justice and Clouded sunsets, as he lay on his deathbed. Despite Aurora’s protests, there would be no change to the fallen god’s legacy, despite its many flaws.

The nature of her magical education also changes drastically, focusing more on practical application rather than the purely theoretical. She is taught a number of spells, and practices their use extensively. She is taught how to deny the use of magic, to enforce the world’s truth in order to warp spells, or negate them entirely. She learns to see the subtle distortions that are common indicators of hidden magical effects. She also learns why attempting to affect others directly with magic is difficult at best. When you grapple with the reality of the world, the world’s truth is all you must overcome. When attempting to affect someone, you not only grapple with the world, but also with the truth of your target. Everything about them, from their history to their heritage, could deny your attempts at influence. She feels like an idiot for her empty threats. Magic is simple in concept, but when applying it, there is no end to the complications.

Satisfied with her progress, the gods see it fit for her to resume her duties. Soon she sits on Roenon’s throne during petitions and judgements, and not long after, she speaks for the kings in other matters. She is provided some guidance the first few weeks, but soon she is left to her own devices. She speaks to diplomats, to guild leaders, and to merchants. It doesn’t take long for her to get a taste for the subtleties of rule, but her actions are always subject to the gods’ scrutiny. She could only hope that if she did something they did not approve of, their lax attitude would make them overlook it.

Despite her studies and her duties eating away at her days, she is still determined to find time to let herself live. Today was one of those days, and it would be a good one. She was determined to make her trip outside the palace gates enjoyable, and with Pava’s company, that wouldn’t be difficult. She needed to make two stops before they could find a place to spend the day, and she’s surprised by how nervous those stops make her feel. Shouldn’t she be looking forward to this? She’s still wondering when she finds her way to the carriage, and she takes Pava’s hand as she enters. They are accompanied by two palace guards, one sitting in the driver’s cab, and the other on a seat at the back. They finally set off, and she takes her first breath outside the palace since her trial.

Aurora steps down onto the cobbled streets by her mother’s home, Pava following closely behind. She looks up at the old attic apartment, thinking of days past, and walks up the stairs leading to the door, every step feeling stranger. Despite where her life had led her, it still feels like home. When she stands in front of the entrance, she’s conflicted. What was she supposed to feel, to do? She hadn’t heard from her mother since the surgeons put her back together, was she even still here? Everything changes when Pava takes her hand. That warm, strong, gentle hand still makes her heart skip a beat. She looks up at her, a warm smile on that handsome face, the curly hair in a ponytail. Seeing who stands beside her, who supports her, Aurora finally musters the courage to knock on the door.

After a few moments of shuffling, the door opens, and in the doorway, wearing a look of pure shock, stands Light. Aurora barely manages a small “Hi,” before she is pulled into an embrace.

“Oh Aurora, are you alright? I heard they took you to the palace, and that you wouldn’t come back! They wouldn’t tell me anything else, what happened?” Light is on the verge of tears, and she is clinging to her daughter with ferocity.

“I’m fine, mother. Please, it’s better if we talk inside.” Aurora awkwardly pats her mother on the head, unsure how to respond. She’s happy to see her of course, and glad to know she is safe, but that gray skin and black hair is an uncomfortable reminder. After a few more moments, Light lets her go and nods.

“I’ll get you something to eat, or to drink maybe. Do you want some tea?” She looks around, finally seeing Pava, and quickly adds, “Of course your friend can have some too, if she likes!”

“I’d love some tea, miss Kairaan.” Pava says with a smile, seeming to find the exchange rather adorable.

They enter, and crowd around the only table in the household. While Light heats the water, she begins to talk, already forgetting her questions. “You should know I don’t have anything too expensive, just what I could get at the market after work. Life is a struggle, as you know, and we all need a little something to keep us going at times, something nice for the rough days. A little treat now and then is what keeps us going, you know! But enough about tea, it’s a blessing that you’re alright Aurora. I kept imagining you trapped in the palace, in some kind of dungeon. What have you been doing there? Oh listen to me prattle, I haven’t even gotten your friend’s name! Do feel free to introduce me.”

Aurora sighs, and says, “This is Pava, mother. She’s… someone I care a lot for. Pava, this is my mother, Light. She assists at the pottery shop down the street.”

Pava smiles, saying, “I knew you had it from somewhere, Aurora.” The look she receives in response is murderous, so she quickly continues, “That’s a good honest profession, miss Kairaan. Creating something new is a wonderful calling in life.”

“Oh please, call me Light. And you don’t need to flatter me Pava, I’m just trying to make a living. Besides, Aurora still has questions to answer while the tea gets ready.”

Aurora looks down, taking a deep breath. “I called for divine judgement after the killing, mother. They listened to what I had to say, and they declared me innocent. When they were about to send me to the university I panicked, and suggested I learn from the gods directly instead, to ensure my safety. I’ve stayed at the palace since then. I would have come to visit sooner, but there were procedures, and it was complicated. Half the reason they let me leave was that I brought Pava with me, She’s a guard at the palace.” Her shoulders tense up talking about the trial, just thinking about it makes her nervous again.

“Oh! You’re learning magic from the gods now? I never thought you’d move past the books over at the Page.” While Aurora had thought the same, hearing her mother say it still stings. “I’m glad you’re doing well, you’ve come so far since Rain let you in. Sometimes I still remember you as that little boy, but you’re all grown up now.” Pava’s hand grips Aurora’s firmly, an anchor to keep her steady. Light turns to Pava, and says, “You’d never have thought he would change like that I’ll tell you, I never had a clue. One day he just-”

“She,” Pava says, her voice stern.

“What?”

Pava stares Light straight in the eyes, a piercing look that Aurora hasn’t seen since her early days at the palace. “One day  _ she _ just.”

Light looks around, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yes, of course. One day she just told me to not be surprised if she was different when she left her room.” Uncomfortable under Pava’s steel gaze, Light quickly trails off, her enthusiasm draining fast. She pours tea for the three of them, and they drink it in silence. When the cups are empty, Aurora speaks up.

“I’m sorry mother, we have other things we need to get done here in the city, but before I go, I have something for you.” From a satchel at her side, Aurora pulls out ten glass divines. Once, she would have considered it a fortune.

Her mother looks on with awe. “Aurora, I… I can’t possibly accept this, it’s too much!”

“It’s not nearly enough mother, and you will accept it. At the palace there are dresses for me that cost many times this much. It’s a lot to you, but it’s not to the people who gave me my allowance for this trip. Trust me, I will be fine.”

Light takes a moment to reply, “I’m… grateful. Thank you Aurora, remember that I love you!”

“I’ll never forget, mother.”

While walking to their next destination, Pava doesn’t let go of Aurora’s hand. Steady and strong, she leads her forwards, heading for the street corner she had been directed towards. She was furious with Aurora’s mother. The woman had done everything to make her daughter uncomfortable, even going so far as to imply she was not a daughter. She would not let anyone go through that, she already knew how it felt. After confirming with Aurora that they’re at the right place, they enter the Page.

Pava is amazed by how many books fit in the small shop. Looking around, it’s a miracle there’s enough space to walk between the shelves. Aurora leads now, pulling her through a labyrinth of leatherbound paper and painted wood. They reach a counter, where a young woman is sorting through some ledgers.

“Excuse me,” says Aurora, “but is Rain around? I need to speak with him.”

The woman glances towards them, a stern look in those brown eyes. Her olive skin and black hair contrast with her pure white dress, and she wears a silver necklace. Pava realizes what it means the moment before the woman speaks. “His last rites were performed eight days ago, whatever business you had with him falls to me.”

Aurora is devastated. She hides it well, but Pava knows what to look for by now. The tenseness of her jaw, the brief but sudden inhale. “I’m sorry for your loss, and I grieve with you. He was kind to me when nobody else was, and while I can’t repay him in kind I was hoping this would help cover any damages I caused to the collection.” Aurora places a pouch on the counter, containing another ten glass.

The woman counts the coins, and checks their enchantment with a drop of water, apparently not too trusting of strangers with gifts. Satisfied, she gives them a tired smile, and says, “Thank you, this will be a great help. My name is River, what’s yours?”

“It’s no burden on me. This is Pava, and I am Aurora. I used to read here when I was younger.”

The smile drops from River’s face, replaced by shock, followed by hate. She restrains herself, and in a small voice says, “Get out.”

Pava’s hand tightens around Aurora’s and her training fills her mind. It’s too cramped in here for the sword, it would only get in the way. The dagger was the best weapon for the environment, but it would not be able to keep River far enough away to effectively protect her charge.

Aurora is uncertain, her mask slipping. “What? I’m sorry I just-”

“Get OUT! Do you realize what you did? Grandfather died because of you! If you hadn’t gotten yourself into that palace they wouldn’t have come looking for the book, and if they hadn’t come looking for the book, Rain wouldn’t have gotten thrown in a dungeon! They barely fed him, he was seventy four! You should be dead, you bitch, but instead Grandfather’s the one scattered to the winds! Get! Out!”

Aurora cracks, tears beginning to run down her face. Reeling from the hatred in that voice, she stumbles backwards. Stepping in front of her, Pava says, “That’s enough. You think she had a choice? If you want someone to blame, blame Stonevine. She’s the one who did this.”

River doesn’t have time to respond. As Pava speaks, she suddenly feels Aurora’s hand slip away, and she turns to chase the crying woman, who charges blindly into the street.

Aurora doesn’t know where she’s heading, only that it’s somewhere away from that place. Pava catches up quickly, but Aurora doesn’t stop. She needs to get away. Away from the crowded streets, somewhere she can breathe. She hides behind some crates in an alley, collapsing to the ground and hugging her legs. She can’t escape the guilt. If she hadn’t tried to learn magic, she would never have found that book. If she hadn’t pleaded for tutelage, Sharas wouldn’t have revealed her past dabbling with her spirit. She would never see his kind eyes again, and it was all her fault. No, it was all their fault. The gods, who in their wisdom saw it fit to let an old man die for a crime they had already pardoned her for. How dare they! She told them what happened and they killed him! She hears Pava’s voice just a few steps away, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. She wipes her eyes and stands up, emerging from her spot behind the crates. She sees Pava standing straight, sword positioned in an aggressive guard. Beyond her stands a group of three men, in old worn clothes and with knives drawn.

The man in front speaks, his voice far too smooth for his appearance. “There is no need for this, girl. There are four of us and one of you, I doubt you’ll be able to keep us all at bay.” Aurora turns, and sees the last man moving in behind, trapping them in the alley. “Relinquish your blade, we’ll liberate some wealth, and you walk free. It’s a generous offer, I suggest you take it.”

“Maybe I can’t keep you all back,” Pava replies confidently, “but I can certainly kill one or two of you. Which one wants to bloody my sword first?”

“People like us don’t have much left to live for I’m afraid. We have to take whatever chance we get at a better life, and here you wandered right into our alley. I think we’re lucky, and I have a feeling it will last. Now lower your sword, girl. Be clever, and you might both leave here alive.”

When Aurora speaks, her voice cuts through the alley like steel, tempered by her anger. “How stupid do you think we are? We’ve seen your faces and heard your voice, there’s no way you’d willingly let us leave.” In her mind, familiar truths ring clear, a spell she memorized from Roenon’s lessons. She whispers the truths in a common mage’s cipher, a shorthand to speak them quickly. When she has them bound by her own, she extends her hand towards the man approaching from behind, and with a thunderclap, fires a bolt of lightning directly into his chest. He is launched backwards, and the three on Pava’s side rush them. She keeps them at bay, her reach making it hard for them to approach without dooming themselves. Pava draws her dagger in her off hand, while her sword pierces the shoulder of the one to the left. The two others, seeing her blade occupied, attempt to dash closer, but Aurora has already finished her incantation a second time. The one who spoke is struck by the spell, and falls. Seeing their luck turning, the last man runs, but is quickly cut off by a city guard, who stands, staring at the dead and dying, blocking the alley’s entrance. The man looks back and forth, and seeing no exit, plants the knife in his own gut. Pava quickly strikes the one she pierced through the shoulder with the pommel of her dagger, knocking him unconscious, and the city guard covers their mouth in shock and disgust.

Pava’s voice is clear and strong. “Get reinforcements and arrest any who are still alive. Do not let them die, the palace will be making inquiries.” She wipes her sword on the clothes of one of the attackers, and sheathes it.

“Wh- who are you? What’s going on here?” The guard is frightened and uncertain. This is clearly more than they were prepared for.

“I am Pava, of the palace guard, escorting Aurora Kairaan, appointed voice of Aradel’s divinity. We were attacked, and defended ourselves. Now follow your orders, or I’ll find someone who can!” She holds herself with command and confidence, and the city guard quickly runs to do as she says. When they’re gone, she turns to Aurora, her voice now soft and gentle. “Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you did they?”

Aurora breathes deeply, calming herself. “They didn’t lay a finger on me.” She looks around at the bodies around her, unsure who still lives. She feels nothing for them next to her exhaustion and pain, her anger and resentment. They were just four more people who wanted to push her down, and now they couldn’t. “Can we leave?”

Pava looks concerned. “Yes, but I have one more errand to run.”

It doesn’t take long for Aurora to find her way back to the carriage. Pava ran off the moment the other guards had them in their sight, leaving her to rest in the carriage. This had not been a good day after all, despite her earlier determination. Her mother was in good health, but still couldn’t hold a single conversation without making Aurora feel uncomfortable in her presence. Rain was dead, and she still felt the embers of her rage and guilt. She attacked two men, but it wouldn’t be the first time she killed in self defense. Thinking about them, she feels her emotions numb, a familiar emptiness finding its way into her mind. The door opens, and Pava steps in, sitting down next to Aurora.

“I know today hasn’t been great,” she begins, “but I wanted to at least try to make it better.” She hands her a dagger, the hilt wrapped in sharkskin, the pommel and guard gilded, with a single sapphire set where the handle and blade meets. Aurora slowly pulls it out of its sheath, and the blade itself is beautifully engraved. It depicts a ship in a stormy sea, guided by a single star. “I thought it might help you feel a bit safer, and I wanted it to be special, for you.”

Aurora marvels at the weapon, it’s a masterpiece. “Pava, I… I don’t-”

“Don’t you dare try to say you don’t deserve this. It’s a gift, it’s not about deserving. It’s just something I wanted to do for you.” She almost seems nervous.

“No, I just mean… it’s beautiful. How long have you been planning this?”

Pava looks down, blushing. “Well, I commissioned it a few weeks back, it just happened to work out with our little trip.” She looks back up at Aurora, her nervousness now undeniable. “I thought I coult teach you a few tricks, so if someone manages to get close you can still defend yourself.”

It takes a few moments for Aurora to respond, as everything is banished from her mind. When she speaks, her voice cracks slightly. “You would do that for me?”

Pava seems to relax slightly. “Aurora, I… I’m no genius like you, but if there’s anything I can teach, it’s this. And I want to, if you’ll let me.”

Aurora carefully sheathes the dagger, and holds it tight to her chest. She leans into Pava, finding a place in her arms. She looks up at that freckled face, and as their eyes meet the uncertainty melts away. “I’d do anything if it meant I could be with you.” She reaches out, and pulls Pava’s face closer. “And I would love for you to teach me.”

They kiss, and they laugh, and they kiss again. They cry, but they keep on smiling. Today was going to be good, Aurora decided that days ago.


	12. Unwelcome Attention

Embla keeps dancing, and the crowds keep growing. Every evening with fights, she performs an hour before they’re scheduled, and the patrons love her. She rarely has a hard time finding a free drink or a willing lover when she wants one, and she spends months indulging in easy pleasures. She fights in the arena as often as she can, and with practice she becomes almost unbeatable for the regulars. And while her shows and victories make her increasingly popular, she begins to feel uncomfortable when Len is around. The man seems to have found his disdain for her once more, and it keeps growing. A bitter, jealous hostility that sends shivers down her spine. Something was going to happen with him, and she didn’t think it would be good.

Embla finishes her dance for the night, the fiery bird she crafted as a partner exploding into a spiderweb of flames above. She is sweating, breathing heavily as she bows to the cheering crowd. It took her a while, but she was finally starting to get the steps right, no longer having to hide behind her flames half the time to cover any mistakes. She leaves the arena to find a table, and it doesn’t take long for someone to buy her a drink. She really was getting better at this. Not just the dancing, but the magic too. She could keep going for longer, burn hotter, and with far more control. Practice does apparently make perfect with these things. She recognizes a few of the people who join her, but doesn’t remember their names. She would just have to learn them again. About an hour of drink and laughter later, a black haired girl with olive skin settles down in Embla’s lap. She wears a dress with chaotic, jagged patterns of black and white. Has she met her before? She can’t tell. “Now that’s brave,” Embla says, a wide smile on her lips, “What makes you think you can sit here?”

The black haired girl smirks, and leans back, waving someone over. Two drinks are placed in front of them, some really expensive ones. “I sit wherever I like, and I think I like you.” Both her hands find their way to the back of Embla’s head, and pull her close, trying to bring her in for a kiss.

Embla looks at those demanding eyes, that hungry expression, and she grins. It was going to take more than that. She stands up without warning, black-hair almost falling to the floor, dangling from Embla’s neck. “Did anyone here lose a lover? She’s rich, pretty, and in dire need of attention!” Black-hair manages to get back on her feet. She pouts, but isn’t hurt. Not really. Embla pats the woman’s cheek, the evil grin still plastered across her face. “Give it another shot later, and do try  _ a little _ harder to seduce me first.” She walks away, eyes lingering on black-hair for a while, smile growing wider.

When the fights begin down below, Embla finds her way to the Boss’ platform. She giggles as Ferra rises to steady her, and sits down in her usual spot, with Zekkir between her and the Boss, and a fancy looking man called Strata on her other side. With a sigh, the Boss says “Embla, you will sober up immediately.” Her words wash over the drunk sorcerer, and Embla somehow does as instructed, a stupid smile on her face as she feels clarity return. It always feels strange when the Boss does this, it tingles in her head.

“Now, let’s start this meeting properly,” the Boss says, “and let’s also remember not to schedule new meetings after Embla’s shows, she’s in far too good a mood right now. Speaking of Embla, I want to congratulate the most recent member of our little inner circle. The shows you’ve been putting on have gotten people to come in earlier, stay here longer, and spend more money. You’re earning a lot for the Godless, and in addition, your skill with magic has increased immensely, which is sure to come in handy.” Embla smiles at the Boss, happy to be of use. “Now, for the reason I called this meeting. We have gained territory, and with it, notoriety. The existence of our organization is becoming common knowledge throughout the city, and with our newfound fame, we need improved security. Fortunately, an old associate of mine has arrived to provide just that. He helped carve this place out of the ground in the first place, and his skills are far beyond my own in certain useful areas. It is my pleasure to introduce you to my old friend, Into Self.”

With perfect timing, a man arrives at the top of the stairs. His skin is golden, his head is shaved, and his black horns are filed down. He wears loose fitting robes in black and white, and he holds himself with a quiet and subdued confidence. When he speaks, his voice is like silk. “It is an honor to meet you all. My name is One Who Looks Into the Self, but as my friend said, you may call me Into Self.” His eyes find Embla, and stay there. “It’s a particular pleasure to meet you, Embla. You’ve become such a wonderful and strong woman. I am truly glad to be your father.”

Embla’s blood runs cold, and she stares at the stranger with shock and confusion. “What?” The others fall dead silent, even the Boss. This was apparently not part of the plan.

“I understand your confusion, and I apologize for not meeting you earlier, but I know it to be true. You have your mother’s nose, her laugh, and her temper. You have my eyes, my hands, and my blood. To me it’s clear as day, you are Sunai’s daughter, and mine.” He smiles at her, a gentle smile, and her icy shock melts, and boils.

Embla looks at the Boss, and asks, “Is that all?” Her voice, while quiet, could shake the earth.

The Boss looks back, uncertainty on her face for once. “I uh, suppose there’s nothing else that requires your attention specifically. You may leave if you wish.”

Embla tries to walk away, but as she passes Into Self, she hears his infuriatingly calm voice. “Wait, we have so much to talk about.” He puts his hand on her wrist, stopping her steady pace. “I want to know the life you have led, and I want to know what happened to Sunai. Please.”

The hand he holds clenches into a fist, and bursts into flames. Embla yanks it away, and turns to him, fire flaring with every word. “If you want to know  _ anything _ about me, you’ll need to fucking earn it.” She leaves, and doesn’t look back.

She finds a table. She doesn’t try to hide her mood, and most people know to steer clear. The black-haired woman is not most people. She settles down in a chair next to Embla, and gives her a sly smile. “You look like you could use something nice, you’re sure I can’t steal you away for a while?”

Embla gives her a look that could kill a lesser woman. “You should move on, today isn’t a good day.” She sips from her drink, one left behind by those who fled the table at her arrival.

“Really, it won’t be a bother, and I promise you, it’ll be like nothing you’ve had before. I’m Facet, and if you give me a chance, the pleasure will be all yours.” She leans in close, and lays a hand on Embla’s arm.

Fire erupts from Embla’s hands again, and Facet quickly pulls away, hair singed. Without a hint of humour, Embla says, “Don’t play with fire if you don’t want to burn.”

Facet hesitates, but her face soon regains its smile. “I don’t mind the flame. In fact, I like to run my fingers through it. It’s a good distraction whenever I’m bored.”

Embla has had enough. She turns to Facet, anger overcoming her patience. “Does it look like I’m in the fucking mood? Take a hint, and leave me alone!” She begins to turn back to her drink.

Facet looks at her, face somewhere between shock and realization. “What did he do?”

Embla freezes, eyes immediately finding their way to Facet. She grabs her by her shirt, and pulls her away, barely letting the woman get her feet under her. She throws her against a wall, and holds her there. Embla’s face shows no hint of mercy. With embers filling the air around her, she hisses into Facet’s face, “How do you know Into Self?”

Panic starting to seep into her voice, Facet says, “He’s my teacher! I don’t know!”

Emblas eyes narrow, and with her free hand she punches the wall next to Facet’s head. the pain keeps her sharp, keeps her focused. “I’m gonna need more than that.” It ignites, far enough away not to burn the woman, but close enough that she can feel it. “What do you know about me, what has he told you?”

Facet pulls away from the flame, desperately struggling against Embla’s grip. Tears begin to fall from her face. “I don’t- Please!”

Embla pulls the burning hand away, but keeps it in Facet’s sight, as a reminder. “Fine, now talk!”

“He… two days ago he said he knew you, that you’re his daughter. He said he would speak to you when the time was right, that's all I swear!”

Embla looks at Facet as the woman begins sobbing, choking on the air, and her burning anger feels rotten.

“Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes, barely holding on to her words. “I don’t want to die.”

Embla looks at what she’s made of the girl, and feels sick. She lets go of Facet, who falls to her knees, paralyzed by fear. She can’t bear to look anymore, not at that mess of tears and terror. Shame spreads from her chest, suffocating her. She doesn’t know what to do anymore, she can’t just walk away, can she? A voice calls out from behind, belonging to someone who should never have seen this.

“Embla?” Zekkir asks, as if he’s not certain it’s really her. It feels like a knife to the heart.

When she speaks, her voice is hollow and small, no power left in it. “Yeah.” She looks at Facet, who still sits there, too scared to move. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” She turns, and walks over to Zekkir, burying her face in his chest.

They lock themselves in a room, and Embla collapses on the bed. She feels awful, but she doesn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to be powerful, to be strong, but she didn’t want this. She cries into the pillow, and Zekkir sits by her side, stroking her hair. After a few minutes, there’s a knock on the door. “The room’s taken!” Zekkir yells to whoever is on the other side.

Facet’s voice answers, somehow audible despite barely being more than a whisper. “Is Embla in there?”

Zekkir looks questioningly at Embla, who nods, wiping her tears on the bedsheets.

After a moment of hesitation, Zekkir replies, “She is, just give me a moment and I’ll let you in.”

“There’s no need,” Facet says, and a moment later the lock clicks open. She enters, eyes downcast. Before Embla can figure out what to say, the black-haired woman takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I should have stopped long before you made me.”

This wasn’t right, it shouldn’t be like this! Embla does her best to keep from crying as she speaks. “Why are you the one apologizing? I was horrible!”

Facet looks confused, thrown off for a moment by Embla’s regret. “You already did! I-, I drove you to do that, isn’t that my fault?”

“You didn’t drive me to do anything.” She rests her face on the pillow, looking down at the ground. Nothing could justify what she had done. “I don’t get to do that to you just because I’m angry.”

She hears footsteps, too even and light to be Facet. Her heart stops. “You’re just like your mother. So full of love, even for those you’ve barely met.” Into Self steps past the door, apparently having listened from right outside.

She can no longer hold back the tears, but anger fuels them now. This was supposed to be private, and he ruined it! She hisses through her teeth, holding back the fire that’s building in her chest. “You don’t get to talk about her, and you don’t get to talk to me. Leave.”

He looks impatient, as if dealing with a child. It only provides fuel for the flames. “Seeing as you terrified my apprentice, I believe you owe me this much.”

Embla sits up, hands clenched into fists. “I don’t owe you fucking anything. Leave.”

Into Self takes a deep breath. “Fine. You said I’d have to earn the right to speak with you? Then let me. Face me in the arena. If you win, I leave you alone. If I win, however, you will speak with me. All I want to do is to know you, Embla. I think I have a right to know my own daughter.”

Embla gives him a long, hateful look. “I’m not yours to know.” She turns to Zekkir. “Get the healers ready, if he’s careless I’m killing him.”

On the sands of the arena, they stand face to face, sixty feet apart. Embla is surrounded by embers, barely a thought between her and the flames. Into Self has removed his robes, and stands bare-chested with his hands and feet wrapped in cloth. He wears no armour and has no weapon, he must be a mage of some sort. Embla almost holds her breath as the countdown begins. Three, two, one, inferno. The ground erupts into flames, and a wall of fire 30 feet tall surges towards her enemy, towards the man who calls himself her father. He takes a breath, then seems to clench every muscle in his body. The moment he moves, it’s impossibly fast. He darts to the side, dodging the fire, but Embla quickly sends another wall his way. He dashes forward, moving closer, almost charging straight into the blaze, and then darts to the side again, as fast as before. Embla surrounds herself with a burning whirlwind, and sets the ground alight around her, forcing Into Self to step back as he gets too close for comfort. She begins lashing out like she did in her first battle, denying him the luxury of steady footing. Embla can almost swear she sees another figure overlayed over his. A crackling, indistinct silhouette, almost seeming to move  _ for  _ him. She pulls the fire covering the ground back into herself, all the heat redirected to her attacks. She forces Into Self further and further back, attacking low to keep him from finding a proper stance, and to keep him from looking too closely at the ground. She feigns signs of tiring, her strikes beginning to lose speed and ferocity. Soon, Into Self takes what he sees as an opportunity. He dashes forward, jumping over her attack, and lands right next to her. He immediately slips and falls, landing on smooth glass rather than shifting sands. Embla takes the opportunity, and grabs Into self by the throat, and with her other hand tries to burn him to a crisp. He closes his eyes, and Embla falls, legs swept from under her by his feet. Having dodged the worst of it, he doesn’t strike her as he jumps to his feet. Instead he mutters, “hold her,” and the ground becomes liquid, swallowing her body from the neck down. She panics, trying desperately to swim, but as quick as it became like water, it turns solid once again.

Into Self speaks, “She is incapacitated. I win.”

Desperate, Embla does the only thing she can, and breathes fire at him. Unprepared, Into Self is struck, but there’s no real power behind it, she didn’t have the time or focus for anything dangerous. He lets out a pained grunt, and quickly makes his way behind her, outside her line of sight. Soon, his victory is announced. Embla curses, trying not to cry. He had challenged her, despite knowing she was powerful. She should never have accepted! Into Self speaks again in his too calm voice. “Release her.” The ground becomes soft around her once more, lifting her to her feet. She feels a hand on her shoulder, and she turns, punching Into Self in the face. As he stumbles back, she hurriedly exits the arena, tears beyond her control. She hears his footsteps approaching fast.

“Embla, wait for me. You made a promise to speak with me if I won, now keep it!”

She can’t. She just can’t. She needs to be somewhere else, where she doesn’t have to listen to his voice, where she doesn’t have to look at his face. She stops, only about ten steps away from him. “Leave.”

After a moment of hesitation, he says, “Embla, I only-”

She spins around, facing him, and screams with all the anger, pain, and power she can muster.  _ “LEAVE!” _ A wall of flames erupts from the ground between them, reaching all the way up to the high, high ceiling. Everyone in the Godless hears, and everyone in the Godless sees. Embla runs, finds a new room, and barricades the entrance. She doesn’t respond when someone knocks on her door, she doesn’t reply when Ferra calls for her. She curls up on the bed, crying until the tears stop coming, staying there until she falls asleep.


	13. A Call for Aid

Unlike in her other areas of study, Aurora struggles with the dagger. It takes weeks of instruction and careful demonstration before she can even pretend to hold her own while sparring. Her hands are deft, but she lacks strength and physical endurance. It takes her a long time to stop falling out of her stance the moment she is threatened, but when she finally starts getting the hang of things, they decide it’s time to introduce magic to the equation. She learns to keep steady footing while casting her spells, to keep her concentration while she struggles to deflect and dodge Pava’s spear. It’s hard work, but they do their best to find time to relax. Pava usually sleeps in the barracks with the rest of the guard, to make sure she wakes up for the morning shift, but occasionally, she finds time to join Aurora in her room. It is such a night, and they rest in each others’ arms, their legs entwined. Aurora traces a winding scar up Pava’s arm. “I’m starting to feel bad about these,” she says, “why do you have Roenon leave the scars after healing you?”

Pava smiles. “Healing enough to remove the scars is taxing, I wouldn’t be fit for duty until next morning if he did. You should know, you tried it, and if I remember correctly you were unconscious the rest of the day.”

“I suppose you’re right, but I thought that was because I wasn’t used to it,” Aurora pauses, and sighs. “I just wish there was a way to throw practice lightning, so I wouldn’t leave scars at all.”

“I like it,” Pava mumbles, “it means I’ll always remember.” They lie there in silence for a few more minutes, finding safety and happiness in each other’s presence. “You’re sure I can’t come with you?”

Aurora cradles Pava’s hand in both of hers, and looks away. “Yes. Verat wants me to act independently, and is afraid you’ll influence my decisions. This is going to be our last night until I come back.”

“Well,” Pava says, pushing Aurora onto her back, “we’ll just have to make the most of it then.” Aurora smiles, and Pava laughs.

When she leaves the palace behind, Aurora makes two stops. She visits her mother, and promises to come again when she can. She visits the Page, and tells River that she would like to talk when she gets the opportunity. When she enters her carriage after the second stop, a cat slips in the door. It defies all attempts to get it outside, and in not too long, she gives up. She looks at it, and realizes that she recognizes the creature. “You’re the one who knocked the spirit book off the shelf all those years ago, aren’t you?”

The cat meows, and jumps up on the seat beside her. Aurora starts petting it.

“You’ve caused a lot of trouble. Are you proud of yourself?”

The cat purrs, and pushes its face into Aurora’s hand.

“I suppose if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. You sent me down this path all those years ago. Well, that’s an exaggeration of course, I was already walking it when you started meddling, but you did speed it up significantly.”

The cat climbs up into Aurora’s lap, and lays down, leaning against her stomach. It keeps purring.

Aurora picks up the cat and looks it in the eyes. “Are you even listening to me? Oh well, I got what I needed.” She stands up, holding the cat by the scruff, and as it starts flailing, opens the carriage door. She tosses the cat outside as gently as she can. No need to bring it all the way to Alianor. After all, she’s sure someone cares for it a lot, if it’s lived this long.

When the evening approaches, and her carriage and escort stops, Aurora steps outside for some fresh air. As the others begin setting up camp, she takes a stroll through the fields surrounding the site. One of the guards attempts to stop her, muttering something about bandits, but she brushes him off. If there are bandits within one day’s travel of Sederei, the kingdom has truly fallen to chaos. Besides, she can handle herself. As she walks, she considers the nature of her journey. A few days ago, a courier arrived with a message to the kings. Queen Alienne, Avatar of the Sun and Gathering Storms, calls for aid. In the city of Ildain, the largest in Alianor besides the capital, a criminal element has been active for years. This wouldn’t be cause for concern, but they have clashed with authorities more regularly as of late, and they are winning almost every battle. Since soldiers were unlikely to provide any effective help, the kings decided to send Aurora, with an escort to secure safe passage north. She wasn’t sure how useful she would be in an investigation, but at least she spoke Sari well enough. If nothing else, the authorities would have a competent mage available, and one the locals wouldn’t know. She finds her way back to the camp, and joins the others for an evening meal.

When Aurora wakes up the following morning, she is greeted by someone familiar. The cat from the city is curled up next to her. She looks at it, confused, but decides it’s not worth thinking about. She didn’t sleep well, and blames her year of comfort. It wasn’t easy to find a comfortable position in a tent after you got used to luxurious mattresses and down-filled duvets. She crawls out of her bedroll, and gets dressed. Bless Yann for her choice of clothes. Aurora’s new outfits sacrificed style for practicality, but that suited her just fine. She needed good, sturdy travel clothes, not ball gowns and high heels. When she is finished, she exits her tent, and enters the carriage. She finds a mirror and a brush, and after a spell to clean herself up as best she can, she begins to brush her hair. It doesn’t take long for the cat to find her again, and it sits down next to her.

“I suppose if you’ve come this far there’s no point trying to get rid of you. Throwing you out now would probably be your doom, and that’s something I think we would both like to avoid.”

The cat meows, and climbs up into her lap again, keeping an eye on her this time.

“I suppose I should give you a name. You probably already have one, but since I have no way of knowing…” Aurora pauses, taking a moment to think. “How about Trouble? After all, you’ve caused quite the stir.”

The cat meows again, and lays down. Aurora finishes her brushing, and starts petting him.

“Trouble it is then.” She sits there for another few minutes, petting the cat and looking out the carriage window, before joining her travelling companions for breakfast.

As the days pass, and they reach further north, Aurora finds herself increasingly grateful for Yann’s expertise. A cold autumn wind started blowing in from the west, and the heavy cloak alone keeps her warmer than her usual palace attire could ever do. She reads the days away, and soon they pass through villages where the murmurs are whispered in Sari, rather than her native Karian. As the tedium of travel starts to wear her down, they reach the border. Marked by a wall of smooth, uncut stone, raised by the gods in unison when they divided the land between them, the gate is guarded by a dozen bored soldiers. They stop, choosing to stay there for the night. Apparently coming from the palace made them entitled to a place in the barracks. While the rest of them settle in, Aurora wanders. Following in her footsteps, Trouble is never far. She walks along the length of the wall, a constant reminder of the might of the gods. When those beings work together, the whole world seems to bend to their will. After a few minutes, she stops, and looks back. They all seemed so small next to this. She feels Trouble move past her, and when she looks at him, he meows, before continuing forward. She follows, not having anything better to do. Despite Pava’s introduction, her escort kept their distance from her. There would be no point in returning before they’re done with whatever they’re doing. It doesn't take long for Trouble to lead her into some woods that push against the wall, and as the gate garrison disappears from view, she sees it. An old log house, built to last. It’s large, with stone foundations. It would be a majestic sight, a home fit for the finest, if not for the fact that it was utterly destroyed. When the wall rose from the earth, it pushed itself through the building, leaving it a hollow and broken ruin, as the sturdy logs tore the house apart. Trouble sits in front of it, facing her. He meows. Aurora turns away, and hurriedly makes her way back to the gate. She forces herself not to consider it, after all, she really should get back to the others before they start searching. Trouble doesn’t return before nightfall.


	14. Words of the Past

For days, the Godless is robbed of its brightest smile. Embla fulfills her duties with precision, but the joy is gone. Under the weight of her promise, she can’t climb out of her pit of anger and bitterness. Into Self’s constant presence does not help her mood. He has learned not to approach her directly, but he’s always in sight, watching. On the second day, Facet asks nervously if she will keep her promise. She will when she’s ready. On the third day, she almost loses control in an arena match, seriously injuring her opponent. She pays the healer’s fee for him. It’s on the fourth day that Embla can’t take it any longer. She looks around for Into Self, and finds him on the Boss’ platform, facing away. As she walks up the stairs, she hears some of the conversation between him and the boss.

“She’s been erratic and angry for days now, so I’ll ask again, what did you do to her?” Their voice is stern in a way Embla is unused to. The Boss isn’t happy.

Into Self replies. Calm as always, but with a hint of frustration. “I did nothing to her. She promised she would speak to me if I won the arena match, it was an honest agreement.”

Embla reaches the top just in time to see the Boss close their eyes and pinch the bridge of their nose. “Creators beyond, Self, That’s not nothing! Did you...” They stop as they open their eyes and see her. After a sigh and a pause, they say, “Welcome, Embla. As you can tell I’m just having a quick conversation with your father, I can have someone fetch you when we’re done if you need me.”

Embla looks at the two of them. “He’s not my father.” Her gaze lands on Into Self, and embers fill the air. “I keep my promises. I’ll be in the fourth room in the third hall. If you’re not there before I’m tired of waiting, you’ve lost your chance.” She turns, leaving the two of them in silence.

It only takes a few minutes for him to show, opening the door into the newly redecorated room. The bed is shoved to the side, and in the now free space, sits a round table and two chairs. Embla owes someone a half-glass for hauling it in here, but it’s worth it. She’s not about to talk to him on the bed.

“Sit.” She says, motioning towards the empty seat. He does as instructed, and stays silent. When the pause gets uncomfortably long, Embla spits out, “You wanted to talk, now talk. I’m not the one who wanted this.”

Into Self takes another moment to consider his words. “As I said upon our first meeting, I wish to know you. I would also like to know what happened to Sunai. The Spirits only tell me that she is gone, never to return.”

“Fine,” says Embla, a bitterness in her voice, “I lived with mother for eight years. We were happy together, without you. During the eighth year, she got sick, and died. Is that it, are you satisfied?”

Into Self meets her hateful gaze with characteristic calm. “I am sorry, that is a painful thing to hear. She was a warm light in the cold winter nights of this city.”

Embers begin to fill the air around Embla once more as her eyes narrow. She doesn’t hide the barely restrained rage in her voice. “You don’t get to talk about her.”

“I am sorry, I will refrain from doing so in your presence in the future.” He seems sincere, but she can’t trust that unnatural calm. “What of the years after? How did you find work with Ezanin?”

Embla takes a deep breath to calm herself, but the venom doesn’t leave her voice. “I got thrown out when mother died, they didn’t want to deal with a kid. I starved on the streets until Ferra offered me a job with the Boss. Ezanin  _ is _ the boss, right? If not I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I… forget I said anything. I apologize for leaving the two of you behind, but-”

“Don’t bother.” Embla is done. She did what she promised, and she doesn’t want to listen to another word coming out of his mouth. “I want you to stay as far away from me as possible. It should be easy, considering how much you’ve practiced.”

She looks him straight in the eyes, and sees his calm face fall away for a moment. There’s pain in that expression. Good, he deserves it. He rises without a word, and leaves the room.

Embla stays for a while. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with the usual crowd, not after dealing with her so-called father. She felt it the moment he left, the tension she was too stubborn to notice, lifting from her shoulders. It left her lighter, more like herself, and most of all, exhausted. She lies on the bed, hand raised and ablaze. She sculpts those flames, shaping them into long claws, into wild beasts, into strange forms with no meaning. She’s so lost in her art that she almost jumps when she hears Facet’s voice. “I thought you shouldn’t play with fire.” She is trying to sound playful, but it’s clear she’s not comfortable.

The fire disappears from Embla’s hand. “I don’t need to worry about burning.” She looks over at Facet, who is standing nervously in the doorway. “If you’re waiting for permission, you’re free to enter, but don’t expect anything more than that.”

Facet takes a few steps in, uncertain how to react to this new, calm Embla. “I’m… I was told to inform you that I will be taking over any work that requires both your talents and my master’s.” She closes the door behind her, and now stands nervously in the room instead. “He has faith in my abilities, and hopes this will make it easier for both you and him to work effectively, without unnecessary distress.”

Embla sighs and sits up on the bed, pushing herself back until she can lean against the wall. “Please, I’m sorry. You can relax, I’m not going to do anything. You don’t need to stay, but please sit down at least if you do.” She pats the bed, trying her best to be comforting. She has no idea what she is doing, but at least she could try to properly apologize. “I don’t want to work with you if you’re terrified whenever I’m around.”

Facet sits, still tense, but seemingly a bit less scared. “Why do you hate him so much?”

Embla takes a moment to respond, realizing that she finally knows how to explain it. The words are so simple, but they mean so much more than they imply. “Because he wasn’t there when I actually needed him.”

“I’m not sure I understand. You could have a father, but you push him away at every turn. I understand that he’s late, but at least he’s here.”

“He should have come back years ago if he actually wanted to be someone to me. I don’t even know how long it was, but I had to survive on my own for a long time. I don’t need him anymore, I have others to help me now when I need it.”

Facet says something under her breath, too quiet for Embla to hear. Not wanting to pry, Embla watches her sit there for a while, back turned towards her. When she speaks again, her voice is filled with disbelief. “Eleven years…”

Embla turns her body towards Facet at this. “What?”

“He left you here alone for eleven years? I never thought…” Facet falls silent, staring into nothing.

Curiosity momentarily overpowers Embla’s exhaustion. “How do you know that? I didn’t even know that!”

Facet flinches at Embla’s sudden energy. “I’m sorry!” She stands up and faces her, looking down. “I asked your Spirit when you were born, and Into Self said you were eight when your mother died. I shouldn’t have, I was just curious-”

Embla cuts off the string of apologies. “It’s not a problem.” She offers a hand to Facet, trying her best not to look threatening. “I… thank you. I guess I know how old I am now.” It was small, but hopefully it would help. Embla didn’t want to lord her power over someone who did nothing to her besides learn from the wrong man.

Facet slowly takes her hand, and lets herself be pulled back to the bed. She sits, still uncertain, but calmer.

It takes Embla a few moments to figure out what to do next. She puts her other hand on Facet’s, and as she gives it a squeeze, her own hands begin to burn.

She immediately tries to pull back, but Embla holds on tight, and after a moment Facet stops struggling. The flame is nothing but a gentle heat on her skin. Touching, but not burning. The horror on her face is replaced by wonder. For the first time, someone else feels fire’s kiss the same way Embla does.

Embla locks eyes with her, and says, “I promise that if I can help it, I won’t hurt you.” She eases her grip, letting Facet pull her hand back. “So don’t be scared of me, it’ll make life here a lot easier.”

Facet looks at her hand, not seeming to quite believe what she saw. There isn’t a single mark on it, no scars or traces of soot. Not a single sign that it was aflame moments ago. “How did you do this?”

Embla chuckles. “I honestly have no idea.”

Looking back at Embla, Facet says, “Can you do it again?” Her eyes are wide and pleading.

Relieved that she made the right decision, Embla smiles warmly. “Of course I can.”

The Godless is bright once more.


	15. A Meeting

After arriving in Ildain, Aurora is led to a basement. A local group that’s been tracking the criminals’ activities for years briefs her on the situation, providing details they couldn’t trust to a courier. The retired war mage Goleim explains that they are fairly certain the headquarters of the criminal organization is in a bar named the Lax Lady, but their attempts at infiltration have all failed. Their faces are known, and as far as they can tell, the entrance to their prize is concealed by magic. They’ve not dared to show their hand by forcing their way in, and for them, stealth or subterfuge is not an option. Goleim himself has tried to dispel whatever enchantment hides their target, but so far the old man has found no success. It is soon made clear that their best option is for Aurora to use her anonymity to find a way in. Nobody would know her by sight, and a fresh perspective from a skilled mage might give them new insights into how they might enter. 

Before she makes her way to there, Goleim gives her one last warning. “Whatever you do, don’t start a fight. They have a sorcerer, a powerful one. She has dark skin, demon blood, and usually wears yellow robes. Apparently she was well known among the homeless in this district, as Arenei.”

Aurora takes note of the name. “That’s a Karian word. Is she from the south?”

“Not as far as we know. It’s likely a nickname, one given by a foreigner which happened to stick. She specializes in the manipulation and manifestation of flames, it seems fitting to call her Hearthfire.”

She takes a moment to consider this. “I’ll see what I can find, and if something goes wrong, I’ll try to return here. If circumstances prevent me, watch for lightning.”

Moments after she leaves, she begins casting a new spell. One she conceived of long ago, but never needed until now. She speaks in the Divine tongue, certain that the gods would approve of her attempts to aid them.

“I am of demon blood. Those of demon blood are neglected by nations and populations alike. To neglect is to ignore. I have always been ignored by the vast majority of society.” She pierces the truths with her own.

A moment passes, two moments, and nothing happens. She strains, but the familiar feeling of a spell ringing true doesn’t come. Aurora is confused, that should have worked. She had enough truths, why didn’t the spell stick? It takes a few moments until she realizes. One of her statements must be wrong. So wrong that divine authority can’t compensate. She knows the truths of demon blood are accurate, which leaves only one option. The component that broke the spell was the truth about her, and with components only vaguely tying her to the magic, the spell is sure to fail. After this realization, she tries something different.

“Those of demon blood are neglected by nations and populations alike. To neglect is to ignore. The gods themselves watch me with interest, and provide for my needs. I am not neglected, not ignored.”

This time, the spell works, though only barely. If she’d had more time to prepare, she could have put together something far better, and significantly less taxing. She looks upon her arms and sees skin the colour of bronze. Her hair is a dark brown, and looking at her reflection in a nearby window, she sees who she would be if not for her demonic heritage. She tests the air above her head, and while she still feels her horns, a simple illusion would serve her well enough. She holds her spell as she enters the bar and sits down by a window, ordering an ale and a meal so she has an excuse to stay.

About an hour later, as night begins to creep in, she’s found a pattern. Every now and then, small groups of people will enter the bar, exchange a glance or a few words with the bartender, and move to the hallway where the privies are located. They don’t come back. The next time she sees a group approaching from outside, she runs to the privy. She waits until she hears them enter the hallway, then opens the door in front of them. She acts surprised, and they seem to buy it.

The oldest of the group, a man in his 40s wearing green and brown, speaks first. “You should be more careful, girl. You almost ran straight into me.”

Aurora assumes a submissive and bashful tone. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” She looks over at his companion, a woman in her early 30s, and smiles, trying to seem both nervous and hopeful. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The man makes an uncertain noise, but the woman quickly speaks up. “Oh of course you can join us for a drink or two. A gorgeous thing like you shouldn’t have to go alone.”

Before the man can protest, Aurora says, “Oh thank you so very much!” She quickly moves up and clings to the woman’s arm. A paper thin smile is on her face, though she must admit to some satisfaction that her plan worked. When she turns to accompany them onwards, she sees that the hallway is longer than she remembers. Goleim had been right about the magical concealment. As they enter the last door and begin walking down a long staircase, A chill goes down Aurora’s spine. If they had the capability to create such a complex enchantment, she was in more danger than she had realized.

The Godless, that was its name. With drinks served around the clock, fights in the pit on select evenings, and rooms to retire to if one so wished, it was clear this was more than a headquarters. Aurora sits alone at a table away from the bulk of the crowd, having spent the last hour and a half finding an opportunity to slip away from those who let her in. She no longer holds the spell, trying to avoid them finding her by dropping the disguise. She does not have time to be dragged off for more drinks, she has work to do. Having observed goings on for a while, she’s fairly certain whoever runs this place is located on one of the platforms surrounding the large room. From the fighting pit, Aurora sees spirals of flame ascend, almost reaching the ceiling. It would seem Arenei is not only powerful, but possesses great finesse as well. She’d caught a glance of the sorcerer while trying to escape her escort, but this was something else entirely. After taking another sip of her drink, Aurora looks up to see someone approaching her. A demon blooded man, with golden skin, shaved hair, cut horns, and a robe of black and white.

He walks straight to her, and asks, “Is this your first time in the Godless?” It feels more like an interrogation than a conversation.

“I’m afraid it is, today was the first time I found someone to bring me.” She’s gambling, hoping she’s right about how entrance for new patrons usually works.

“Why do you sit here alone? This is not a place you come for peace.” His gaze is unyielding, and she has difficulty looking him in the eyes.

“Well, this was a bit more than I was expecting it to be.” She smiles, but knows it’s not very convincing. “I just need a moment to myself,” she forces herself to meet his eyes, “which is difficult while you’re here. I’d appreciate it if you found me when I’ve collected myself, if you’re so insistent on knowing more.”

The man sighs, and says, “I’m afraid that’s not possible, as you’ll have to come with me. I believe my employer would very much like to ask you some questions.” He pauses for a moment, as dread begins to fill Aurora. “Oh, and don’t attempt any magic. I’m very capable of dealing with whatever you might try.”

Her heart is in her throat, how did he know? Not only did he see through her deception with no clear clues, he  _ knew _ she was a mage! Her options are limited. She doesn’t want to come with him, but on the other hand, she’s scared of this man. The warning finally tips the scale. Don’t start a fight. She nods and stands up. “I’ll come with you, there’s no reason for this to become a problem.” Following the gold-skinned man, she is led to one of the platforms high above.

Once they’ve reached the top, she is directed towards a seat in a lowered portion of the platform, at a table filled with drinks and snacks. From the grandest seat in view, someone with tattoos emerging from the corners of his eyes speaks. “So what have you brought me today? Did you find our spy?”

This doesn’t make any sense. She had been careful, there should be no indication that she isn’t here to enjoy herself. Do they have some sort of ward on the entrance? The possibility is terrifying, that kind of magic is far beyond her.

Gold-skin replies, “I believe so. This is her first visit, and she is of demon blood. In addition, there are traces of magic on her. The spell can’t have been dismissed more than an hour or two ago.”

Aurora takes a moment to look over the others at the table. A short haired young woman covered in scars, an olive skinned younger woman dressed in black and white, and an older man in finery. Her eyes snap back to the one in charge as he speaks again.

“Excellent work, Self.” He smiles as his attention turns towards her. “Now girl, if you would be so kind as to tell us who you are, and who you work for. I promise you’ll be safe as long as you share.”

Taking in her situation, Aurora’s heart races. A familiar desperation settles in her gut, she remembers it well. This is another trial, and she will need more than just the truth to escape judgement this time. “How can I know that you’ll keep that promise? It seems like a very bad idea to immediately give you the only bargaining chip I have.”

The Boss thinks for a moment. “That accent, Karian? From the south then.” He gives her a long, hard look. “I gave you a chance to speak on your own volition, remember that.” His words begin to wash through her in an all too familiar way, the forceful push of a divine command. “You will tell us who you are, and who you work for.”

As she instinctively leans back against the words, she feels them pass through her. She prepares for the worst, but after a moment, she realizes. There is no compulsion to follow his orders, she really did it! Relief fills her, and she can’t help but laugh. With the help of Introspection, she could no longer be denied her own will! She forgets her situation, forgets the danger. She is finally safe in the presence of gods. She looks up at the ceiling, tension bleeding from her body and mind alike.

The Boss looks on, confused and concerned. “What could possibly be so funny? Get on with it, do as I said!”

Aurora looks back, and more than anything, is amazed. “I don’t have to.” Her mind begins to race, a thousand questions lingering in her thoughts, but one is more important than all others. “Are you a particularly weak god, or is this likely to work on all of you?”

Thrown off by the sudden change, the Boss stumbles over his words, “How did- no, I’m not a god.” A moment passes before he realizes he’s on the back foot. It seems he’s not used to being identified. “So who is interrogating who again? Into Self, since it seems I am obviously incapable of making this girl speak, could you try your methods?”

The golden skinned man approaches her, but Aurora is too lost in her relief to be afraid. If her protection against the divine works, she’s not worried about him.

He speaks quietly. “Show yourself, and speak with me.” A few moments pass, and his calm face shows a hint of annoyance. “I demand your presence, and offer gifts in return.” As more time passes, he grows frustrated. “If you reveal yourself, I offer a great boon, something you have always wished for. You need only ask.” Nothing seems to happen, and he turns towards the Boss. “Her Spirit refuses to manifest, she is Introspective at the very least, though since she used a spell I doubt she’s pursuing Mastery as her tool of choice.”

Aurora takes note of his words. The art of Spirit Mastery is apparently not as dead as the gods would have her believe, or perhaps they simply aren’t aware of the current practitioners.

The Boss takes a few moments to process this information, then sighs. “If neither of our methods work, I suppose we will have to use a more traditional approach. Into self, it’s time for you to leave. Strata, fetch me Embla.”


	16. Intruder

Embla is grinning all the way up to the platform. Tonight’s show has been one of her best ones yet, and she can barely contain her excitement. She ignites her fingers and trails burning circles in the air as she ascends, humming with every step. As she finds the top, she sees an unfamiliar woman in Zekkir’s usual spot. Her smile widens at the blue stranger; damn she’s beautiful. Embla flops down in the seat next to her, and as she looks her over, says, “Well hello, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?”

The stranger says nothing, looking away. She seems embarrassed. It’s adorable.

The Boss clears his throat and says, “That’s exactly why I called you here. While it didn’t take long to confirm that she’s a spy of some kind, it’s difficult to get any useful details from her.” He gives Facet a glance. “I heard your interrogation skills are unparalleled, so I thought I’d give you a chance to get her talking.”

Embla’s heart drops, her enthusiasm vanishing in the blink of an eye. Of course he knows. She looks down, guilt pooling in her stomach. “Let’s… see if that’s necessary, before things get uncomfortable.” After a moment, she finds a smile again, though this one is more to put the stranger at ease than for her own sake. “So, why don’t you want to talk, Twinkle?”

“I don’t- Twinkle?” Thrown off by the nickname, the stranger seems to have lost track of her words.

“Well,” Embla replies, “gotta call you something.” Looking at her, Embla gets lost in her hair. It’s like the sky on a clear night. Dark, but with the stars to catch your eyes. It really isn’t fair that she gets to be this pretty. “And you do shine…”

Twinkle blushes furiously, and desperately tries to hide her embarrassment. “No, I- I’m-” She snaps her mouth shut and looks away, face growing warmer by the moment. If she’s this easy to fluster, this won’t take long.

Embla looks at her expectantly, but when nothing more comes, she says, “So, the reason you won’t talk?”

“Oh! Uhm…” Twinkle collects herself. If she’s a spy, she’s no professional. Either that or she’s the best damn spy Embla has ever seen. “I have no reason to believe you won’t slit my throat the moment I tell you what you need to know.” Twinkle locks eyes with Embla, and holds her gaze with a piercing stare. When she speaks again, her voice is hard and cold, like steel. It seems she knows how to look like she’s in charge, too bad the effect is somewhat ruined by her previous floundering. “I’m not about to put my fate in your hands. This isn’t an interrogation, it’s a negotiation.”

Embla can’t help but admire that resolve, though it’s ultimately pointless. “I don’t mean to be threatening or rude, but your fate is already in our hands.” Glancing around at the others, She continues, “Besides, I don’t think you have any power to decide what this is.”

Looking around the platform, Twinkle stays silent, watching the Boss’ inner circle with caution and suspicion. Just as Embla is about to start the conversation again, Facet speaks up. “If I may, I think I might have an idea of who our honored guest might be.”

Twinkle stops breathing. Embla only notices due to how close she is, but the stranger is holding her breath.

“In my travels with Into Self, we were recently in Aradel. Considering the Introspection, and her apparent skill in magic,”

Twinkle slowly puts one hand on something behind a fold in her skirt. Was it some sort of pocket? It was well hidden regardless. Embla gently puts her hand on Twinkle’s wrist, and the stranger startles, turning her head towards Embla in a heartbeat. Barely restrained panic is plain upon her face.

Not having noticed, Facet continues, “I believe we are speaking to Aurora Kairaan, Appointed Voice of Aradel’s Divinity.”

Silence falls over the platform, only the sounds of the patrons below to fill the air. Tension covers them all like a blanket, and Embla can feel Twinkle’s arm shaking. Afraid that the stranger might try something reckless, Embla speaks up, her voice as gentle as she can manage. “Stay calm, ain’t nothing wrong with trying to stay alive. We all know that.” She gives Twinkle a meaningful look. “Don’t act stupid now, it won’t work.” Apparently calmed by the lack of immediate hostility, Twinkle’s arm relaxes slightly. “Now, if you could slowly hand me whatever you were reaching for under here, that’d be a nice way to show you’re still reasonable.”

The moment Twinkle speaks, Embla can tell how close she is to the breaking point. “I… alright.” There are tears in her eyes, but she's doing her best not to show it. “Just let go of my hand, I’ll… I won’t do anything.”

Embla does as she asks, and watches as Twinkle pulls out a dagger. From the engraving on the blade, to the sapphire on the gilded hilt, it’s a beauty. A weapon like that shouldn’t be hidden away, only to be retrieved in emergencies. Twinkle places it on the table, and then reaches back down with both hands, fiddles for a moment, before retrieving a sheath.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” says the Boss, a smile finding its way onto his face, “do tell us if her theory is correct. Are you Aurora? I would advise you not to lie; I detest liars.”

Twinkle’s mask is broken, and a mixture of fear, frustration, and defeat stain her features. “I… yes.”

“Excellent!” continues the Boss, “Embla, since you seemed to take such a liking to our guest, I think it’s only fair you get to keep her company while I decide what to do.” He gives Twinkle a smug look. “Keep in mind, your actions from now on may decide your fate.”

Twinkle looks down, and her eyes find a warm hand, open and waiting. “Come on,” says Embla, “let’s find somewhere less crowded for you.”

The woman hesitantly takes her watcher’s hand. They rise, and leave the Boss to his business.

Only moments after Embla closes the door to her room, she can hear the ragged breathing of someone failing to hold back tears. Twinkle’s back is turned, but she can’t hide her sorry state. She is shaking, one hand clenched and pressed towards her chest, the other covers her mouth as she tries to push it all down. Her eyes are closed firmly, as if to keep the tears from escaping. Embla rushes over, and gently places a hand on Twinkle’s arm, who recoils at the touch, eyes open and wild. The hand is slapped away, and sparks of electricity trail the motion. Interrupted in the attempt to regain control, Twinkle falls to her knees and hunches over, burying her face in her hands. With her face twisted, her tears flow freely, and she cries as quietly as she can manage. Embla slowly approaches, and sits down in front of her, an arm’s length away. With as calming a voice as she can manage, Embla says, “It’s alright, it’ll be-”

“No!” Twinkle interrupts, “It’s not! How is this in any way alright?” She wipes her face on her sleeve, though in her state it won’t stay dry for long. “I’m dead! In what world could I possibly get out of this?”

Embla does her best to maintain her calm. It’s far from easy, what can she say in this situation? “It’s going to be fine, the Boss wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t what?” Twinkle says, interrupting her again. “Wouldn’t kill me? If he was willing to let me out, knowing what I know, he wouldn’t be running a band of criminals. Face it Arenei, I died the moment she said my name.”

While Embla can see that hopelessness is threatening to choke her, it seems talking about it helps, at least a little. “You don’t look dead to me.” Embla sees Twinkle look up at her, and smiles. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, so let’s not pretend like we do.”

Twinkle shifts, her back straightening slightly as she pushes the hair out of her face. She wipes her face again with one hand, and leans on the other, looking away again. Seeming to have run out of words, she stays silent, only the occasional sob to fill the room.

Embla looks down. “I’m sorry, you don’t… this has been really bad, huh.” Twinkle’s only response is a sniff and a sob, so Embla keeps going. “You seem clever, and smart, and you’re damn beautiful. I’m sorry you were sent down here.”

It takes a few moments, but after some time Twinkle manages a quiet “thank you.”

Embla smiles again. “You’re welcome.”

She tries to start a conversation a few more times, but it never feels right. There’s nothing they can talk about without picking at the wound, and so they spend the next hour in silence. When she can’t keep herself still anymore, Embla leaves to get something to drink, locking Twinkle in while she’s away. When she returns with two glasses and a bottle, she is surprised at what waits outside the door. Entering the room, she sees Twinkle turn towards her, eyes going wide. Thinking about it, it is strange, Embla wasn’t quite sure how the cat had gotten down here either.


	17. Deception

Aurora’s heart is racing. She’d been sitting hunched over on the bed, finally having stopped the tears, until she saw him. Now, not a single muscle could rest. She was ready to leap, to run, to fight. Trouble had walked in with Arenei, as if there was nothing strange about it. From her first efforts in learning magic, to her journey beyond her city. That cat followed her all this time. This was beyond coincidence, beyond natural.

Placing the glasses on a shelf, so she has both hands for her bottle, Arenei looks on, amused. “It’s just a cat, Twinkle. It’s not gonna tear you in half.”

Trouble starts moving towards Aurora, and she quickly steps back, starting to weave a spell. Realizing too late what’s happening, Arenei reacts too slowly to intervene. Aurora quickly waves a hand forward, a web of lightning striking the ground in front of the cat, scorching the carpet. “Stay back!” she yells, before she feels the air heat up around her. In moments, she is surrounded by flames that barely keep from scorching her.

As the blaze vanishes, Arenei’s gentle demeanor is gone. She looks stern, suspicious, and angry. “Don’t you dare use magic like that while you’re down here! I’ve been trying to help you, don’t make me regret that.” Aurora freezes, not moving a muscle. Arenei had been kind only moments ago. It’s a chilling reminder that despite her immediate safety, she’s in hostile hands.

“Alright, I won’t.” Aurora looks where she last saw him, and sitting there, calm as if nothing happened, is Trouble. His serenity only serves to unsettle her more.

Arenei sighs, and shoots the creature an annoyed look. “Good.” She picks the bottle off the floor where she had hastily placed it, and as she uncorks it, looks at where the lightning struck. “Do you know how to fix that?”

Aurora’s face grows red. However justified her reaction might be, it still feels ridiculous to have brought out deadly magic only to ward off a cat. “No, I don’t. I apologize.”

Sighing once more, Arenei opens the door again, and yells for someone named Facet. After hearing a response, Arenei turns back to Aurora, and asks, “So do you want any?” She holds up the now open bottle, with something rose-coloured inside.

Feeling her heart settle, Aurora takes a deep breath. While she would rather have avoided this mess, that moment of fight-or-flight seems to have given her clarity once more. Clarity, and exhaustion. “Yes, that would be lovely.” She doesnt take her eyes off Trouble for a second. While watching him jump up onto the bed, Aurora has a thought. “I heard your employer call you Embla before, but you haven’t corrected me when I’ve called you Arenei. Do you prefer one over the other?”

Arenei thinks for a moment. “I don’t know, really. Most people I actually know call me Embla, I call myself Embla, but Arenei is my name as well. It does feel a bit weird to hear it from you though. People mostly use it when talking  _ about _ me, not  _ to _ me. Why do you ask?”

Feeling very self-conscious, Aurora weighs her options. She shouldn’t speak too openly, she can’t afford to share more than is necessary. On the other hand, this is a matter of public record. Anyone with some level of connection could look through past petitions, and find Sharas’ plea. In this case, she has nothing to lose by speaking the truth, and any amount of sympathy might aid her going forward. “I… understand how it feels when people refuse to call you by your chosen name. Aurora is not what my mother named me."

“Oh,” Embla responds, looking thoughtful. “Wait, should I stop calling you Twinkle? I didn’t know your name was such a big thing for you.”

A warm sensation bubbles up in Aurora’s chest, made strange by how foreign it feels. Why is this woman so goddamn honest? She’s a criminal, a sorcerer working for some sort of crime god. How does someone this kind end up in this situation? She can’t help but smile. “No, that one’s fine.” It was enough to know that Embla would stop if she asked.

Embla returns the smile with a far bigger one. She pours sweet liquor into both of their glasses, and sits down on a chair that clearly belongs at the Godless’ tables. “Take a seat then, your highness,” she says, gesturing towards the bed, “I saved the best one just for you.”

Aurora laughs softly, but truly, as she sits back down. Honestly, she is far too relaxed for her situation, but she can’t manage to keep the mask up around this woman. “I’m no noble, my mother’s a potter’s assistant, and my father only barely had the money for my basic education. I’m about as far from nobility as you get, maybe aside from you.”

Suddenly, Aurora’s mind lurches. She feels her thoughts pulled away from her body, almost like Roenon’s mind link spell, though far less refined. Reaching out to steady herself against the wall, she hears Goleim’s voice clear in her mind. “You’ve been in there a long time, are you safe? I will hear the next 20 words you say.”

Seeing concern on Embla’s face, Aurora raises a hand to calm her. She takes a quick moment to think, before saying. “Since I’m a prisoner down here, where will I sleep? Assuming your employer doesn’t decide what to do before then.” After the last word, she feels whatever is pulling on her let go, and she snaps back to clarity, though with an incredible headache.

Clearly having noticed that something was wrong, Embla asks, “Are you alright? Do I need to get you a healer?”

“No, I’m,” Aurora begins, before something in the corner of her eye cuts her off. The woman from the platform, the one in black and white, stands in the doorway. “I’m fine.”

Facet looks on, suspicion on her face. “Why do you ask that now? It’s not at all where your conversation was heading.”

Aurora’s walls spring up in a fraction of a second. “You’ve been eavesdropping then.” Tension fills the room, as the two of them lock eyes, each trying to read the other.

“I’ve been listening. You said it yourself, you’re a prisoner. You must forgive me if I stay suspicious of your motives. And remember, the Boss detests liars, and I report to her.”

Aurora pauses for a moment, chewing on her words. Despite the change in mood, it felt oddly comforting to face Facet like this. Perhaps it was the familiarity of it, or perhaps it was simply that she had something real to fight for. A tiny nugget of information, that she might use to her advantage. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to be spied on, considering my visit’s original purpose, but I don’t see why asking about the practical aspects of my stay is so damning in your eyes. It’s a question that will become very relevant if your employer doesn’t come to a decision soon.”

Facet smiles. “I suppose that is fair, though you should take care not to sound so condescending. This isn’t the Sederei palace, your rules of conduct don’t apply here. Besides, you still haven’t answered my question, not really. Dancing around it won’t distract me.”

Aurora smiles back, and speaks with a venomous voice. “That sounded an awful lot like a threat, Facet. Unless I am mistaken, your employer has yet to decide what to do with me. Until he does, any threat you make is empty. After all, if he decides he wants me alive, he won’t be happy to find me dead.”

As Facet starts to reply, she is interrupted by a very annoyed Embla. “That’s enough. Facet, I called you over for a favor. How long have you been outside, making me wait for you?”

The smile vanishes immediately, and Facet looks away. It takes a moment before she manages to speak. “Since around the time Aurora asked about your name.”

Embla gives Facet a look of disappointment. Glancing over at Aurora, she continues, “The Boss goes by She now. Yes, I know it was different before, it changes. To answer your question, I hadn’t thought about it. There are plenty of rooms, but I wouldn’t trust most of them to hold you. If we can’t find a better solution, you’ll have to sleep here.”

Despite herself, Aurora feels ashamed, and as far as she can tell, so does Facet. “I apologize. It seems my time in the palace has made me speak like a noble.”

Facet looks back at Embla, and mumbles, “What was it you needed?”

“Thanks for asking!” Embla says, clearly happy with having resolved the situation. “Twinkle scorched the carpet when she tried to shoot lightning at the cat. I’ve seen you fix stuff before, do you think you could sort it out?”

Facet’s jaw drops. She looks between Embla and Aurora, and then to the cat. “She did what?”

“Shot lightning at the cat. I know it’s weird but she’s apparently got reasons. Can you fix the carpet?”

Looking over at Aurora, she says, “I can try, on the condition that I get an explanation. This is far too strange for me to just dismiss.”

It only takes a second before Aurora realizes she’s lost track of trouble, and adrenaline once more begins to flow. Looking around, she considers her situation once more. She has little real information on him, and continued honesty might aid her. The worst outcome is that a possible avenue of escape is pointed out, and she has to be more careful if she needs to use it. The best outcome is that she garners sympathy among the top ranking members of this organization, making them reluctant to harm her. She makes her decision, and nods, as she finds Trouble climbing on one of the shelves. Good, he’s still staying away.

Facet closes her eyes, and opens them again, though with a strangely distant look. She runs her hand along the floor, and says, “Do you remember what you used to be? You were beautiful, crafted with precision and grace. You softened the step of our dancer, resting her feet so she could share her art with greater vigor. You had a purpose, one you cannot perform as well as you did. Don’t you want to be as you were? I understand your hesitation, I truly do, but she cares for you. When she saw you hurt, her first thought was to see you healed. Do you want to disappoint her, to let her be reminded of the scar as long as she remains? Become as you were, and you could regain all that you lost when the lightning struck.”

Aurora listens intently as the woman speaks to furniture. She assumes Facet is performing Spirit Mastery, and any tool Aurora can use is one she will try to master. She watches as the scorch marks disappear, and as Facet blinks a few times, Aurora says, “Have you been training with the man with golden skin? I was under the impression he was the senior Spirit Master, seeing as he was the one who tried to force my confession.”

Facet looks at her, suspicious. “I believe that question can wait. After all, you have some explaining to do.”

“Fine,” Aurora replies. She tells the story of a scared girl, and the cat that always seemed to be around, knocking books off shelves and screaming warnings as the boys came to beat her. The two others listen, and as she finishes her tale they begin to ask questions. Once more, Aurora is faced with the decision between honesty and secrecy, and once more, she finds honesty easier. Maybe this was just how she was meant to be, before it was beaten out of her. It saddens her to think that it’s not someone she can be anymore, not when lives depend on her words. All she can do is cherish the times she doesn’t need her mask.


	18. Indulging in Violence

Embla is not alone as she wakes. That in itself is nothing new, but this time is different. While emptying the bottle together with Aurora, they both forgot the question of her sleeping situation, and being too tired to think of something once they remembered, they ended up sharing the bed after all. Embla crawls out from beneath the blankets, and after cleaning herself up with her daily morning burn, she begins to get dressed. She’s settling her hair when Aurora starts mumbling. The words are incoherent, but the fearful tone is unmistakable. Still asleep, she curls up, scared denials and vague pleading passing by her lips. Embla carefully walks over, and kneels, low enough to look Aurora straight in the face. She places her hand in Aurora’s as gently as she can, calling her name as she does.

Eyes shooting open, Aurora grips Embla’s hand like a vice, inhaling sharp and fast. As her breath slows, her eyes dart around the room, before settling on Embla’s smiling face. Her hand begins to relax, and she closes her eyes for a moment, tension bleeding from her expression.

“Hey,” says Embla, “you alright?” She watches carefully, as Aurora’s eyes open once more, already seeming exhausted.

“Yes, I…” Aurora pauses, and looks away. Embla immediately sees how pained the gesture is. “I wasn’t quite awake. I expected someone else.”

Looking at the hand that’s still holding her own, Embla asks, “Good or bad?”

Tears well up in Aurora’s eyes, and she wipes them away as she smiles. “Good. She’s… warm.”

The longing in Aurora’s voice is palpable, and Embla has to brace herself not to pry. “I have a job today, so I’m gonna try to convince Ferra to keep you company. She’s not gonna want to be in here all day, so you should probably get dressed.”

Aurora smiles, before realization hits her, and her face turns a vivid purple. She clutches the blankets close, only now realizing that there’s nothing else to cover her. As Embla bursts into laughter, Aurora frantically searches for her clothes, finding them in a heap on the floor. “I will. Would you mind giving me some privacy? You stare when even I’m covered, I’d rather you left while I’m not.”

“Suit yourself,” says Embla, “Can’t leave the room with you alone in here though, forgot where I put the key.” She turns around, facing away from her increasingly flustered charge. She waits patiently until Aurora says she can turn, and watches as the foreign mage casts some sort of spell on herself. The stain on her skirt flakes away, dust being thrown into the air as the things on her person are cleaned thoroughly. Watching closely, Embla asks, “If you can do that, why bother with normal cleaning?”

“It’s harder on the fabric,” replies Aurora, “There’s always something that gets into the cloth, and the spell tears it out with no regard for its integrity.” She begins running her fingers through the lengths of her hair, muttering complaints about not having a brush on hand.

Embla waits a few minutes to let her prepare for the morning, but soon she begins to worry that she’s wasted too much time. After all, lives may depend on her today. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Only a few hours after Embla left, Ferra is bored out of her mind. Keeping an eye on Aurora sounded like it might be a nice distraction from her uselessness on that job, but the woman refuses to be any fun. Hopefully Embla won’t take long, so Ferra can sign up for the fights tonight. The thought of being stuck at this table with the blandest person in the world was too much to bear. How does that woman cope with doing absolutely nothing? Well, besides watching everyone like a hawk. At least she’s not staying in Embla’s room anymore, that would have been maddening. Ferra throws the knife into the air, watching it flip, and catching by the blade as it falls. How long has it been since she last fumbled a throw?

She’s pulled from her thoughts by Aurora’s voice. She hadn’t expected the girl to talk, but any change was a welcome one right now. “Would you mind if I left to get something to drink?”

“Yeah go ahead. Wait, hold on actually.” Ferra fishes through one of her pouches before finding a few stone coins. Handing them to Aurora, she says, “Get me something too, will you?”

“I’ll get enough for us both. I’d appreciate it if you watched my seat while I’m gone.”

Ferra nods, and watches lazily as Aurora walks towards the bar. Hopefully some folk'll come down here soon. It’s not right for the Godless to be this quiet, but it’s not like a slow start is unexpected, since Embla’s not here to attract an early crowd.

While Ferra waits, Len sits down in Aurora’s chair. He looks around a bit, seemingly waiting for her to start the conversation, before he gives up and speaks first. “So why does Embla get to go on the job without us, hasn’t she gotten enough victories?”

With half an eye on her prisoner, Ferra says, “Boss’ decision, the job ain’t got room for us this time. And go get another chair if you’re gonna sit here, that one’s taken.”

“It just ain’t fair is all, I’m tired of getting set aside.” Len’s tone is bitter, and Ferra has to stifle a groan. This is not what she needs today.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with getting set aside, the boss needs few people with a lot of power. That’s Embla in a nutshell. And I told you, go get another chair.” She sees Aurora turn back to the table, with a big bottle and some glasses. At least someone knows how to follow instructions. “Besides, you  _ just _ got to show off to the Boss. Don’t start complaining because you’re not on every mission.”

Len looks like he’s about to keep it up, but he sees the look she’s giving him, and falls quiet. He sits there awkwardly for a few seconds before getting up and fetching another chair. Both he and Aurora return at the same time.

Aurora gives him a glance, before sitting down, placing a glass before both herself and Ferra. She uncorks the bottle and starts pouring. Len narrows his eyes for a moment, before his face fills with recognition, and it quickly twists into a cruel smile. “So this is the guest of honor, is it?” he leans on his chair, choosing to remain standing for now. “I wasn’t expecting you to babysit, Ferra.”

“Fuck off, Len,” she replies, taking a sip from her now full glass. The girl apparently knows how to pick a drink, because whatever this is, it’s good. Not very strong, but good.

“And you,” he continues, “How come a god’s assistant ends up as a spy? Did you do something they didn’t like down south, -” he finishes the question by saying a name.

Aurora’s face changes almost imperceptibly, Ferra barely catches the muscles tensing. Did he hit a sore spot? “My name,” She says, “is Aurora.”

“Really? That’s not what I learned,” Len responds, “I asked around a bit, and my friends, they told me a different story. So,” he repeats the name, “I suggest you stop trying to keep secrets. I already know them, after all.”

A sparring match begins down in the arena, but before Ferra can direct their attention to it to stop this farce, Aurora stands up. She rises to her full height, and takes a sip from her glass. “You think you know who I am?” She walks forward, and Ferra sees her free hand settle on the neck of the bottle.

Len almost backs down, but seems to find his resolve somewhere. It’s frankly impressive, Aurora knows how to cut an imposing figure, standing tall with that death glare. “I don’t ‘think’ I know who you are. It’s pretty clear that you can’t hide anything from me,” he says the name a third time.

Aurora takes a deep breath, then splashes the remaining contents of her drink into his face. Len sputters, closing his eyes and wiping his face with his hands. Ferra doesn’t have time to feel disappointed at the meager display, before Aurora swings the bottle in a wide arc, hitting Len in the side of the ribs. The bottle smashes, and he falls sideways to the floor. Aurora looks down on the man, writhing in pain at her feet. “My name is what I say it is. If you’re not willing to accept that, I recommend you stay on the ground.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Ferra drains her glass, before slamming it down onto the table. She stands up, excited for what she knows comes next. From the ground, between the coughing and the whining, Len says, “Stupid fucking- I’m gonna enjoy watching you get beaten.” There are tears in his eyes.

Ignoring him, Aurora turns to Ferra. “I assume there are consequences?”

Jumping to her feet, Ferra replies with a smile, “Yup! Anyone who starts a fight gets to hop into the arena. You timed that well though, only two opponents for you.” She starts leading her away. This might just be a fun day after all.

As they close in on the sands, Aurora asks the important question. “Are there rules to this? If so, what are they?”

“Not many,” Ferra replies, “Mages don’t get weapons or armor, but aside from that you’re free to do what you like. Don’t worry about injuries, we got good healers ready.”

Aurora looks ahead. If she’s uncertain, Ferra can’t tell. “Good. I’m not sure how possible it is for me to fight with non-lethal means.”

As they finally reach the entrance, Ferra forcefully pushes Aurora forward, and she falls onto the sands. The two fighters stop for a moment, waiting for an explanation. Ferra speaks as Aurora rises. “She started a fight. Rules are rules.”

Nodding, the two men spread out, attempting to surround their new opponent. One is wearing a kettle helmet and chainmail, and is armed with a sword; the other has a breastplate and an arming cap, and is armed with an axe and a shield. On her feet once more, Aurora falls into a fighting stance, one Ferra’s only seen used by army veterans. It seems she’s not just books and spells after all, that’s not the instinct of someone with no experience. As the three fighters slowly dance around the arena, trying to size each other up and find favourable positions, Ferra sees Len arrive up above, watching with an intensity that sends a chill down her spine. It’s been a while since she’s seen that much hate on someone’s face. As she looks back towards the fighters, Aurora strikes.

She takes two quick steps closer to the man in chainmail, and throws a handful of sand at his face. When did she get that? Ferra barely has time to be confused before Aurora turns her attention to her other opponent. As he swings his axe in her direction, she backs away, speaking short words that Ferra doesn’t recognize. Realizing that Aurora’s trying to cast a spell, the man dedicates all of his attention to attacking, pressuring her, trying to make her lose focus. Both he and Ferra are surprised when she steps into his strike instead of backing away. Maneuvering carefully, Aurora blocks the haft of the axe with her forearm, and with a pained face, grabs the man’s wrist with her other hand. The man tries to hit her with the rim of his shield, but she finishes her incantation before he can drive it home, and lightning runs through him from where her hand meets his arm. The man falls to the ground, and after Aurora takes a deep breath through clenched teeth, she says, “Get him some help immediately, or he’ll die.” One of the healers quickly obliges, and Aurora walks over to where the other man is still struggling to get the sand out of his face. Somehow, it seems to have gotten stuck, he can’t get it off. “Surrender, I doubt you want to experience what your friend just went through. I can get the sand off you once you do.” He quickly raises both hands, his blade already on the ground. Aurora looks to Ferra for confirmation, who nods, grinning wide with awe. She bends down, touching his hand with hers, a tiny spark forming at the moment of contact. The sand immediately stops sticking to him, falling away as he rubs his face. He mumbles a thanks, as he spits to clear his mouth. As Aurora walks towards the exit, She throws Len a glance that could cut through steel. Judging by his face, Ferra doubts he’ll dare speak to her again.

Aurora finds her way to Ferra’s side, and they begin to walk back towards their table. Unable to contain herself, Ferra says, “Goddamn, where did you learn to fight? I don’t know what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t that!”

As if there’s nothing unusual about it, Aurora says, “I’ve been sparring with one of the palace guard for some time, and it seems I’ve learned more than I assumed. I wasn’t expecting to win, but I suppose not every opponent is as competent as Pava.”

A mix of excitement and disappointment churns within Ferra. How did nobody find out that their resident royal was such a monster? “No wonder you’re a beast on the sands! Goddamn palace guard…” It takes a moment for Ferra to remember what she had been wondering about. “When did you get the sand? I completely missed that. And how did you get it to stick to his face?”

Aurora’s face betrays her, and she smiles. “I picked it up when you pushed me to the ground, and as you were talking, I gave it a static charge with a spell, counting on your voice to mask mine.” Trying and failing to hide her pride, Aurora continues, “It was a gamble. I didn’t know how well it would work, or even if it would, but I couldn’t risk lightning. With the amount of metal he was wearing it’s impossible to know how it would act, he might not have been hurt at all. I needed him incapacitated so I could deal with the easier target. An unconventional surprise attack seemed like my best option.”

“You really think these things through, huh,” Ferra replies, “Embla would be a demon if she learned that lesson.” She smiles, as she sees Embla and Facet come down the stairs, only slightly curious about the child carried on Embla’s back. “Let’s find a bigger table. I need to buy you a drink, and I have a feeling we’re about to have company.”

“Alright,” Aurora replies, “but first, take me to a healer. Your friend is no longer watching, and my arm feels like it’s going to kill me.”


	19. Three Options, One Choice

Vale is not happy. It had taken them months to settle in this city, but just as they started making progress, things began to go wrong. Supplies going missing, hirelings refusing to continue working. It’s all they can do not to scream, and tonight is no exception. It had taken the incompetent bastards an hour to find the focus.  _ An hour! _ It’s unforgivable. They wonder if they’d managed to find the worst acolytes in history! Looking through their grimoire to refresh their memory of the ritual, Vale remembers something else that should have been here ages ago.

“Where is the sacrifice?” They snap at no one in particular. “If you had any sense between you we could have started the ritual half an hour ago, at least!”

An unfamiliar voice cuts through the dark chamber. “I’m afraid he won’t be coming.” It’s followed by a whisper too faint for them to hear.

All the acolytes stop dead, and Vale is tempted to ignore the newcomer and give them a stern lecture. They turn to see who dares intrude, and finds a dark haired woman in a dress of black and white. “Who are you, and what exactly do you mean? This is beyond you, girl. We are servants of true divinity, and I am the voice of the faithful. You will explain yourself, and perhaps you will live until the evening.”

The stranger looks amused by her speech. Her punishment will be severe. “I mean exactly what I said. He has been escorted outside, and will be taken care of. I must however, commend your choice of shackles. It took longer than expected to convince them to open.”

The audacity! Vale takes three confident steps forward, and with fire in her voice, says, “If you are unable to learn respect on your own, I will have to teach you. In the name of Sirad, God-King of all, I command you to kneel!”

Moments pass, and with a cold dread Vale realizes that despite the strength they wield, the stranger doesn’t obey. She doesn't have to, something guards her, something powerful. “I think not,” she replies, “You made a grave mistake by choosing to stay here; you failed to look where you stepped. This city is not yours, Ildain belongs to the Godless.”

The stranger is distracted for a moment, looking back into the shadows outside the chamber. Vale dons a wicked grin at this opportunity, and gestures for the acolytes to attack, but nothing comes. They look behind themself, and the sight fills them with horror. Their numerous followers are halfway merged into the walls and floor, stone covering their mouths and enveloping their limbs. They have no one left.

Turning back to the stranger, they see a triumphant smile on her face, as a wave of heat rushes in from the open doorway. “It seems your luck has run out, servant of true divinity. Our hearthfire has arrived.”

Aurora is drinking as slow as she can, doing her best to maintain any semblance of control as a crowd has formed around her. Ferra kept her promise of a drink, and as soon as Embla heard what happened she followed suit. There were still six promised drinks left, and she had done her best to dissuade further offers. Apparently the way to gain popularity here was to give them a show unlike any other. Embla, Facet, Ferra, and a half dozen others who saw her fight, surround her table, excited to share stories, names, and solicitations. It’s wholly alien, maddeningly flattering, and utterly terrifying. Fear, anticipation, embarrassment, joy, and pride, all mixed up into a bubbling mess that threatens to make her chest burst. The rush and bewilderment when someone leans over her shoulder and kisses her cheek, the fear when someone begins to ask about her past and her arrival, the smile she feels tugging at her lips as she feels the people tugging at her heart; it’s almost too much to bear. The attention is intoxicating, even more so than the drink, or perhaps the drink merely makes it seem that way. She can’t remember a time when this many people simply wanted to be in her presence, to see her, to hear her, to know her. She’s almost ready to flee back to Embla’s room when the crowd parts, and the man she’s come to know as Strata delivers a message to the now silenced crowd.

“The Boss wants to speak with Aurora. Ferra, Facet, Embla, your presence is required.”

While Aurora is relieved to escape the crowd, a different nervousness now fills her. Ascending the stairs, she sees Into Self, the one who first found her, carrying a young boy down. It seems to be the same one that Embla brought here, a story she still didn’t know the details of. At the top, she sees her previous seat is taken by a red skinned and demon blooded man, and she waits until she is directed to another. A few books sit on the table in front of the Boss, all with numerous bookmarks. Leaning back on her throne, the Boss speaks as soon as they all find their places.

“I have had time to gather information, and to ponder the implications. However, documents and accounts only show so much, and I would like whatever insights you may have gained into the nature of our guest.” She gestures to the ones who Aurora spent time with one by one, and one by one they share.

First to speak is Embla, and Aurora discovers just how much she’s poured her heart out to this woman. “She’s got good reasons to be scared. From what she told me she’s barely had a moment in her life where she was safe. She’s kind for it though, seen how bad people can get, and tries to be better.” She gives the Boss a pointed look. “She really doesn’t deserve the threats.”

Second is Facet, and it’s no less unsettling when she lays out what she’s learned. “I’d have to agree with Embla’s statements, while adding some points of my own. She hides as much as she can about herself, as if expecting any revealed weakness to be used against her. It’s not entirely irrational, considering her history and current position, but it’s still worth mentioning. The exception to this is when she’s met with honest kindness. It seems she’s desperate for affection, and she quickly lost the ability to maintain any semblance of deception after some time alone with Embla.”

It feels like every truth is an arrow in her chest, Aurora can only hope that Ferra is less perceptive. She is wrong. “She almost slipped past me, I thought she was boring at first. Couldn’t be more wrong. She’s ruthless, and smart about it. She doesn’t go for the kill unless she thinks she has to, but she knows when and where to plant the knife if you know what I’m saying. It takes some work to get her to that point though, gotta know where to push. It also looks like she can’t handle being helpless. As fast as she admitted to spying yesterday, she didn’t crack until she lost her secret.”

The Boss smiles at Aurora, though with less malice than before. More of a smug, knowing look. “Thank you, you’ve confirmed some of my speculation. I now have a few questions for you myself, and again, I do hope you answer honestly.” She opens one of the books at the first bookmark, and searches the page until she finds what she’s looking for. “You’ve been handling petitions for the kings of Aradel for quite a while now, and both acceptance rate and the amount of petitions processed have gone up significantly. How and why?”

Aurora is surprised, she wasn’t expecting questions about the use of her authority. It takes her a moment to collect her thoughts, before she responds, “I have been writing new laws to replace and improve upon the existing ones. The Kings may not accept an official change, but it’s a simple matter to use my new laws to guide petitions, as most of them are caused by the inadequate current laws in the first place. It allows for far greater efficiency. The ideal would of course be if they changed the law itself, removing the need for the petition, though that avenue is a dead end.”

Beginning to search a new page, the Boss says, “And the why?”

Aurora is stumped for a moment. Isn’t it obvious? “People petition the gods when they need help. If I am in a position to help them, it’s only right that I do what I can.”

“Excellent,” mumbles the Boss. After a few moments, she says, “This one can’t have made you very popular. Speaking for the gods, you established an increased tuition for all education, for any and all with enough wealth to pay it tenfold with a month's earnings. Along with this, you lowered tuition for all who did not fall into this category, especially for introductory schools. You claimed this was because all should have the chance to pursue Verat’s virtues, and that it’s the responsibility of those with the means to aid those without. Is this the truth?”

Aurora almost cringes at the memory. That had not been a pleasant few weeks. “No, not exactly. I pointed to Verat’s virtues to make it more palatable to both him and the people at large. I simply believe that everyone deserves a chance to learn, and I barely had one myself. And you’re right, it was a supremely unpopular decree among the nobility.”

Having already found her next question, the Boss continues her interrogation. “At great cost, you commissioned the restoration of a temple to Syrin, Avatar of Respite and Unexpected Refuge. Your supposed reasoning was that while they may have been slain in our war against demonkind, we should not forget their virtues. Explain this one as well, if you would.”

Aurora takes care not to lose her patience. While the questions are repetitive, they clearly serve a purpose. Her character is being judged, and the Boss seems pleased by her answers so far. Continued honesty seems the best path forward. “As you should be aware, Syrin’s temples serve not only as places of worship, but as places where volunteers aid those in need. By restoring it I secured aid for those who would otherwise be forced into begging and crime.”

The Boss closes her books, and leans back, stretching. “I had more questions prepared, but I don’t believe I’ll need them. Your answers were comprehensive, and I don’t believe continuing to ask will be very informative.” The Boss leans forward again, resting her elbows on the table and steepling her fingers. “Now, as for what to do with you. I currently have three options in mind, and It’s only fair that I be honest with you, after you’ve been so honest with me and mine. The first choice that comes to mind is also the safest one for us, though I doubt you’ll find it very appealing. We simply kill you, to make sure any information you’ve gathered never comes to light. This option is not very attractive to me, however. It’s not often someone in power actually wants to help, and despite what you may believe, I do prefer when the people thrive. The second option is the one that carries the most risk for us down here, and I won’t lie, it’s currently the least likely option. If we can confirm that our goals align, we simply let you walk away. You hide your knowledge to the best of your ability, and we remain here, doing what we always have.”

The Boss pauses, locking eyes with Aurora. Meeting her gaze, Aurora says, “So far, the second option seems by far the most appealing, though I doubt you’ll simply let me choose. What of the third?”

“The third option,” the Boss continues, not breaking eye contact, “is that you work for me. I could always use another skilled mage, and your education is unique among the ones in my employ. You would obviously not leave the establishment, at least not any time soon. I cannot trust in your loyalty, and even if I could, you look quite distinctive. We can risk neither your deception and escape, nor the possibility of you being recognized. Aside from that, however, you would be like any other employee. You would be compensated for your work, and I’m sure you’ll come to appreciate our little community here. You already seem to be getting along exceedingly well with some of my best, and I get the distinct impression that you would do well in a more… relaxed environment. This is the only option where your opinion will hold any significant sway. Forced labour is rarely effective, and besides, I find it distasteful.” She pauses again, then asks, “Is this an offer you’re willing to accept?”

It doesn’t take long for Aurora to come to a decision. “It seems the only safe option, and who can say what I might learn. Consider your offer accepted.”

The Boss lets loose a satisfied smile. “Excellent, I will make use of your skills immediately then. Strata?” The man places two items on the table, sliding them towards Aurora. A book, and an adorned metal band, easily two hands across. It looks to be made of steel, and is engraved with symbols and shapes, with silver inlay. “Facet and Embla recovered these items from a particularly vicious cult to the God-King, and while Strata had his insights, I’m very curious to see what Roenon’s apprentice has to say on the matter.” She leans back, before remembering something. “Oh, and I heard about what happened earlier. If someone pulls on that string again, rest assured that I can personally take care of it.” Her smile widens. “Unless you’d rather deal with it yourself, of course.”

Aurora’s eyes betray her hidden smile. “I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”


End file.
